Dear Little Brother:

My fingers (and toes) are crossed. When I'm not driving, my eyes are crossed, too.

I contemplated getting you a rabbit foot from one of the less-fortunate bunnies around here, and then I remembered that getting hit by a car is the unluckiest thing that could happen to a rabbit. Best to leave that one alone.

I'm running out of salt to throw over my shoulder, and I can't remember which way I'm supposed to spin under a full moon. Or is a new moon. Crap. Anyway - I'm quite dizzy from turning one way, then another, just to cover my bases. And I can't find the moon some nights with the clouds.

No black cats to report, nor ladders under which I've meandered, and since I no longer own a functioning umbrella, there are no umbrellas being opened indoors by yours truly. You're welcome.

The worry stone I bought in Yellowstone when we were kids is cracked in half. I think that's a bad sign. It's not good for running your finger over, that's for sure. It's like cuddling with a razor blade.

All that to say that when it comes to relying on luck for this crazy-insane-huge test, I think you shouldn't. Instead, your best bet is to abandon any hope of sleep. It's only a hundred or so more hours, and then the test itself. Seriously. Buck up, kiddo. This pot of coffee's for you. I'm exhausted, out of salt, tripping over my dizzy feet, suffering a cross-eyed headache, and staying very far away from roadkill of all kinds. I'm calling it MCAT sympathy pain and leaving it at that.

Love you,
Me.