access

My mom gave me some writing-pads a while ago. (Is the word "writing-pad"? You know a bunch of paper gathered together somehow. Ah, nevermind.) I brought one of them with me to my first lecture and when I looked through it I saw some of my dad's handwriting. From when he was in Poland on some work-related thing. In 1993. I can't really say I care much for what it says, but I like the thought about me using the same papers as he did 16 years ago. In a sick, twisted way of course.