![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I feel like I have a whole lot to talk about, and really don't even know where to begin. Thankfully, i've had some great friend talking time. Gushing and venting and stuff. I feel like my brain is trying to wrap around a billion and one things.... mostly relating to family and dating and the future/moving. So much so much. But I feel goooood. fucking good. like being so not-good for so long has made me feel even better now that I'm free from it.
I'm sad for my dad and Sandy, his wife. She's dying. Really actually dying. Hospice is coming to their house, and her body is falling apart from the chemo. I don't even know how to spell chemo. My dad was asking about someone else with cancer, and I couldn't explain to him hat the thing is, she actually takes care of herself. Eats food that's not junk all day every day. I watched Sandy eat plate-sized piece of chocolate cake for breakfast and then doughnuts for lunch and then cake again for dinner. But what the hell do you say? "this is not a way to heal"? To a woman who has been on fucking Atkin's diet for a decade?
So intense, all of it. My heart is sad. My dad deals with his wife's almost inevitable death by telling her she had better pull through because she's the only reason he hasn't already killed the cat. Maybe I should have a plane ticket set aside.
Well, I can't write about my insane insanely hot date in the same post as cancer stepmom. Or even about the future and my plans. That mobile home is a pit of despair right now. A black hole of sadness and doom, interlaced with bad jokes from my father.
I'm sad for my dad and Sandy, his wife. She's dying. Really actually dying. Hospice is coming to their house, and her body is falling apart from the chemo. I don't even know how to spell chemo. My dad was asking about someone else with cancer, and I couldn't explain to him hat the thing is, she actually takes care of herself. Eats food that's not junk all day every day. I watched Sandy eat plate-sized piece of chocolate cake for breakfast and then doughnuts for lunch and then cake again for dinner. But what the hell do you say? "this is not a way to heal"? To a woman who has been on fucking Atkin's diet for a decade?
So intense, all of it. My heart is sad. My dad deals with his wife's almost inevitable death by telling her she had better pull through because she's the only reason he hasn't already killed the cat. Maybe I should have a plane ticket set aside.
Well, I can't write about my insane insanely hot date in the same post as cancer stepmom. Or even about the future and my plans. That mobile home is a pit of despair right now. A black hole of sadness and doom, interlaced with bad jokes from my father.
