Yeah, that means I’m fucking crazy. You know, the last week, I fear that if I go to sleep before 1AM, something terrible will happen to my dad. Yes, I’m aware how ridiculous that sounds. Imagine how ridiculous it feels, not to mention bloody exhausting!!! I have gotten a lot of cleaning, organizing, decluttering, and decorating done, though, and have perfected my espresso making skills. As my precious baby snores, I’m sitting here, but since it is after 1, I can go to sleep. The worst part, is how I am aware that my behavior is not normal, crazy in fact (yeah, up yours, doc – she gets so pissed when I use the word “crazy”), but I just can’t stop myself. I try. I know I need to stop, but I just can’t. I can’t. I don’t know why. I try, it just doesn’t work out. I realize I’m doing something that is “strange/crazy/not-normal/unnecessary, but have to do it anyway. Although, I’m better about the door locking . . . just not lately, though, but for over a year, I’d been better.
I try to distract myself . . . yeah, that works – not. Wine helps. If I’m intoxicated, typically I’m too useless, or lazy to recheck all doors, including the cars, 3 times each. And yes, 3 is my number, ya wanna fight about it? Maybe I’m not crazy – my dad goes into have his first radiation treatment tomorrow. I’m scared as hell. Perhaps all normal people do stuff like this when that evil, godless word, cancer is involved. Oh, how I hate that word!!! Hoover DAM!!!!
And somebitch, it’s not my precious daughter snoring . . . it’s the damn dog!! Uuuugh. Why do we have a dog again? snoring loud as hell! That just makes me jealous as all get-out. All I can think about is my dad. When did he stop being a superhero? When did he start aging? What the hell? When did he go bald? I see him at least once a week for the last 3 years . . . but sometimes, you see someone without really seeing them, I guess.
I remember being 5 and my dad was invincible! He was the best, smartest, coolest, strongest, most perfect, heroic, and handsome man on the planet, nothing could ever hurt him. Nothing! Everything in the world was afraid of my dad – even germs. Even rain, and wind. Even bullets, and now, this evil cowardly, wretched cancer has him a captive? Oh hell no! I think the doctor needs to check her shit again before my sister beats her ass, and this time, I’ll let her. I won’t even try to stop her. Hell, I may even join in. I wish I could fight this for him. It’s not fair! He could beat any foe. Cancer does not play fair. God should fix that. Let’s just hope that the next 3 weeks go quick, and he’s cancer free by Christmas. Obsessive Compulisve Disorder . . .
I’m gonna finish my glass of wine, and call it a night. XOXO.