(no subject)
chemotherapy made my dad lose night vision. and everytime he sees people they are yellow now. the morning after i first saw him all blurry-eyed and joking about it i squinted into the mirror like that was going to somehow make my reflection more yellow. i squinted at a banana when i waited for my coffee to brew. i thought maybe there's a yellower yellow that only my dad has the power to see, and this was all a superhuman sort of change.
he's taking 44 pills each day now. i rearranged the numbers over and over again in my head. it sounds worse when it's 11 pills four times a day. but that's less than 2 pills an hour. 2.75 every hour when he's sleeping eight hours a night instead of taking pills. i could swallow 2.75 pills dry if i had to. it's not that bad. i guess it's not really that good though.
i didn't get him anything for father's day. i'm scared that if i do anything out of the ordinary it's going to be the last time an event happens In My Father's Lifetime. there's no gift that i could think of as a final gift. it seemed morbid. when he calls me now (and he calls every day still) the hair on the back of my neck stands up. i think it's going to be more bad news. i compose myself too much. when it is more bad news i react as little as possible. because i don't know how the fuck i'm supposed to react. i compulsively check my phone to see if he calls and then when he does i say nothing.
i'm scared of not having a family. soon i'll stop having one. this is slow and tedious and painful and there's nothing i can do but wait for things to keep getting worse. i wish he could die by a firing squad or drown in the atlantic while hunting great white sharks. i want banging and shaking and screaming when he dies. not life going on as usual. and not pills and bananas and quiet phonecalls. this is hurting stretched out and flattened over everything else in the world.
he's taking 44 pills each day now. i rearranged the numbers over and over again in my head. it sounds worse when it's 11 pills four times a day. but that's less than 2 pills an hour. 2.75 every hour when he's sleeping eight hours a night instead of taking pills. i could swallow 2.75 pills dry if i had to. it's not that bad. i guess it's not really that good though.
i didn't get him anything for father's day. i'm scared that if i do anything out of the ordinary it's going to be the last time an event happens In My Father's Lifetime. there's no gift that i could think of as a final gift. it seemed morbid. when he calls me now (and he calls every day still) the hair on the back of my neck stands up. i think it's going to be more bad news. i compose myself too much. when it is more bad news i react as little as possible. because i don't know how the fuck i'm supposed to react. i compulsively check my phone to see if he calls and then when he does i say nothing.
i'm scared of not having a family. soon i'll stop having one. this is slow and tedious and painful and there's nothing i can do but wait for things to keep getting worse. i wish he could die by a firing squad or drown in the atlantic while hunting great white sharks. i want banging and shaking and screaming when he dies. not life going on as usual. and not pills and bananas and quiet phonecalls. this is hurting stretched out and flattened over everything else in the world.