egan to cut. I traced circles, I cut circles and I repeated this nightly. Over the next 3 months I cut feverishly over 2000 circles. In the day, I would work to re write my life story, visiting old journals, therapy notes, letters from my parents and in the evenings I would trace and cut circles. There was something about the process, the manipulation of materials in my hands that was calming and brought a closure to a day of revisiting my life past. At times I would stack the circles up according to their color and I would marvel at how they looked, like circular towers, each one unique, unable to be replicated the next time I stacked them up, like re visiting the past, each time I looked back, the story never repeated the same way, maybe a new memory or a different perspective, always unable to stack the memories exactly the same each time.