Z started singing while we walked to Union Station. We finally asked why. She wanted people to pay her. She saw us give money to street performers and figured it would work for her. I can see her What I Did On Spring Break essay now – The Art Of Panhandling.

She made friends on the train last night. She was telling them all about changing schools. Except in her version she was not a discipline problem. She was a victim of a vast conspiracy centered on her archnemesis. The poor thing. I’m surprised her father didn’t lead a round of “We Shall Overcome” for her.

Speaking of protests, he dreamt that he was leading a singing protest of key lime flavored yogurt. Yes, “We Shall Overcome” was invoked. I worry about him.

Z had a mini-meltdown at dinner last night. We went back to Lauripinn Grill and she didn’t want to go. Pointing out that wherever we went she was only going to have fries anyway didn’t convince her. She cried through the whole ordering process. We ignored her. Eventually she felt better. In fact she jumped up to sing and dance once. I had to tell her to sit down because she wasn’t the floor show.

This morning I inspired her punk phase by throwing her out of my room while I got dressed. She made up her own protest song. The lyrics are “It’s Not FAAA—IR!!!” Easy to remember. Sing it over and over at the top of your lungs and you have it.