The Day The World Went Away

So my father is dying.

The cancer started silently in his pancreas, never letting on that it was growing and spreading rapidly, and is now in parts of his liver, his lungs, and his pelvic wall. We see the oncologist on Monday, but he already knows it's only going to be a matter of weeks.

I'm at their house for the weekend, and discovered that something is very wonky with the guest bathroom toilet. Dad took a look at it and determined that it was beyond his knowledge to fix. They called their plumber, a former schoolteacher who had a stroke and couldn't teach anymore and who is, quite literally, the Nicest Guy In The World(TM), to come take a look at it. He arrived this morning while I was still asleep, but I woke when I heard him and my dad climbing the stairs, the two of them chatting up a storm. The Nicest Guy In The World(TM) takes a look at it and then heads back out to his truck for some parts. On his return, I hear him saying, "Oh hey, Richard, I know you have all those tools and spare parts downstairs, and I came across this (what "this" is I have no idea since I was in bed behind a closed door and never saw "it") and immediately thought of you and I think you should take it." My dad's response?

"Oh man, I'd love to have one of those, but, uh... well I have an oncologists appointment on Monday, and I don't think I'm going to be around long enough to appreciate this."

And that was how the Nicest Guy In The World(TM) learned about how my dad is going to die.


FML.

The Way Out Is Through

I'm going back to school. Or, at least, I'd like to go back to school. I'm currently in the process of applying to Lesley University, and I've got almost the entire process under control; Application form filled out? Check. Transcripts from other universities? Check. Two letters of recommendation? Check. Application fee waiver coupon? Check. Personal essay of 600 to 900 words?

Hello, writers block.

One would think it wouldn't be that hard to pimp oneself out in order to improves ones lot in life. However, I have run absolutely full throttle into the 20 meter thick brick wall that is called writers block.

A whopping 100 words down... at least 500 more to go...

I Do Not Want This

Sleep is for chumps.

I find myself wondering if I'll ever get a normal, seven to eight hours of solid, uninterrupted sleep in one night ever again during the remainder of my life. Four and a half hours ago, I went to bed utterly exhausted, feeling like I hadn't slept in a week; now I sit here on the couch, eyes burning, having given up trying to fall asleep again after waking up an hour and a half ago, jealously listening to my girlfriend slumber peacefully in the bed across the room, wondering if I should take yet another melatonin to join the pill I took five hours ago.

Maybe if I actually did stay awake for an entire week, my brain might actually get tired enough to sleep for more than three hours?

Probably not.

Somewhat Damaged

The high point of my day: Finally falling asleep at 7:45 in the morning, after waking up at 3am with insomnia and having had about only two hours of sleep.

The low point of my day: Waking up at 3am with insomnia after having absolutely bizarre dreams involving an Audi A8L W12 that only wanted to fire on three cylinders. (Seriously, where the hell does my head come up with this stuff?)

The worst part about the high point of my day was that each and every time I got to the brink of falling asleep, my brain would give me another shot of adrenaline, absolutely certain that it knew there was some reason it had to keep me awake. 7:30am to 7:45am was a roller coaster of 20 to 30 second naps, jolting awake, bringing the heart rate back down, dozing off, and then repeating the process.

My wishlist for tonight?

- Sleep through the whole night.

- No 20 second naps.

- If cars show up in my dreams, let them function as the manufacturer intended.