Who am I to disagree?

I've been having a lot of dreams about my father lately.  Nothing specific, really - he's in them, and in them, he's back from the dead and we don't really know what to do about it.

I can't seem to ask him for advice, which, in my waking life is what I want.

Although, I suspect his advice would be to keep my head down and keep plugging along.  So, nothing magical there. I still miss him.  Most of the time. 

I am now in my 3rd week of feeling like hammered dog shit.  My ears are basically ok, but my throat is raw, my sinuses are jacked and I'm still coughing.  I am ready to feel better again.  Like, any second now.

I'm in Texas this week, and I'm not super-stoked, even though it's just outside San Antonio, which is a fun enough city, as Texas goes.  I just want to be home with my dog, watching TV.

I'll be home Wednesday, though.  Me, Piper.  Some Ramen Noodles.

Living the dream.



After my father died it took me ten years before I forgave him enough to dream about him. And in those dreams he was just there, and I was vaguely surprised at the fact that he was alive. Nothing much more than that happened. I don't think I'll ever forgive him fully though. Even now memories fill me with helpless fury.