yknow, des' father is dying. and this is not to imply that her relationship with her father is anything like my relationship with mine, but there are the same underlying general father issues that we share. her dad is dying in jail, my father always imprisoned one way or another. i don't have to explain it to you, if you've been paying attention you already know and if you haven't then you don't care, and it doesn't matter. cause i know.

anyway, i say to you, you who may or may not exist, she wrote some things about it. and i was fine while reading it, and only slightly surprised at this, because i have been noticing as of late the degree and depth of my fine-ness.. but there was one thing that caught me, like a sandspur on a sock, just enough that it stung a little when i pulled it out of my skin; she said, "his updated mugshot online is unrecognizable."
but it wasn't that one, it was the one that said, "i do not know that man with the sunken cheeks."

and that was the one that stung just a little, that was the one that opened the photo album in my head i keep closed with the little things i try not to remember, and as i have said, do not really have to try anymore, this is the way it is because that is the way things go and in order to be okay with life you must be okay with death, so on and so forth and so it goes.

so i've taken to re-reading old entries at random. i post an entry and then hit the random link a few times to see what arises, it's kind of like a luck of the draw horoscope in some ways; mind powerz extending most easily to things that involve electronic impulses.

so during today's troll through the 2000's (since this was started in june of 2000, oh little moodswing, you are seven years old, and isn't that shocking), i came across this, from 15 june 2003, and it says:

on the other hand, i forgot today was sunday. which also means i forgot it was father's day. :( and i couldn't understand why my dad had this sad look on his face when i walked in. and i came in and sat down and eventually looked at my calendar and said, ohmy! i'm a bad daughter. but we all know that is hardly true. we should dance lightly around this subject, shouldn't we. maybe not. he's been in bed now for ten days, but at least now he can breathe more than ten days ago. [every one of these sentences is taking at least five minutes of thought] i've been listening to his heartbeat for months. it doesn't sound like it should. but it sounds like but, it sounds. he asked me one night if i thought this was it. i told him he was asking the wrong person, but i didn't think so, no. it doesn't appear to be. he's very lucky.

and i am wondering if it is a good thing that i am glad to see that sometimes it still stings a little more than just a little. and i know that it does because i still feel guilt when i think on it too much, whether or not i should, or whether or not i will ever stop. maybe it is not guilt but the presentation of sadness of loss or whatever as guilt. i don't know. i don't know whether i'm glad because that feeling is familiar and my old friend has not entirely left me.. or if it is exactly that but the opposite.. that still there is feeling and that is what remains and the fact that i have not been to your grave but once earlier this year is not as significant as the fact that i can say, "yes. you were an asshole, and yes. i still miss you," without it being a parade and a proclamation.

yeah, i don't know what the fuck i'm talking about. i probably shouldn't have taken that caffeine pill an hour ago while i was still at work. hahaha. press the link to go back an entry and find a less entertaining but more pertinent entry containing my love for jason bateman. hah!