Shitsticks. This does not bode well. I ordered a marker. This is what arrived via fedex. It's roughly the size of a shipping container. I'm too afraid to open it. This whole project has been doomed from the start. I mean, maybe it'll be a nice kind of surprise. Like maybe what's in that box, is a whole new bathroom, or a replicant of Jack who is already potty trained, and likes to rub my feet.
I'm about to board a plane for San Francisco, where I'm shooting the wedding of the dear Ms. Hopper, and her un-bride husband to be. My heart can't handle one more crack, pre-flight. I've never spent more than 12 hours away from Jack, and I'm a little concerned that my sobbing might disrupt the wedding ceremony. Just kidding, I'll wear a muzzle. However, if I was to break my wrist, smashing my fist through the bathroom wall, all would be lost. So for now, the jinx stays in the box.
Wish me luck, and stuff.