I awakened this morning to a brace of cheerful birds alighting on my windowsill - and a bright, cloudless day - and a phone call from my Dad.
He said, "Hi Nina. I am putting the capstones on the wall today. I am going to eat fried chicken and drink beer later. I feel amazingly good. Deckwork starts tomorrow. Don't forget to floss. Bye."
October 27th was an important day. It marked the end of the eight weeks since Dr. O sent my dad home in an ambulance, told him to dust off his will, polish up his spiritual perfection, and die already. My dad was, oh, what is the word... forecasted? predicted? to live two weeks - that four weeks would be astonishing - and eight weeks would be unheard of ever in geriatric leukemia history and therefore a rubber-stampable miracle. Know what my dad was doing on October 27th?
He was on a three day bass fishing trip with his friends. Camping.
Reader, my usual mode of expressing myself is sarcasm. You know this. It is therefore worth noting that I am not being sarcastic* when I say this:
I am horrified by how badly I have been behaving. I am pretty sure I went out with Sri last night, got shitfaced, and blogged about how sorry I feel for myself. Pretty sure. Positive, actually.
What sort of person has a dad who is miraculously still alive - and fishing - and doing light construction work - and responds to such news by getting shitfaced with her friends and being angry that he doesn't want to spend more time with her? Oh, that's right... me. And I don't need the hangover to clear to tell you I have been buying lottery tickets here or there on the theory that something as odds-bad (awful) as winning the lottery would have a prayer of making me not completely hate my life. Oh my God. I am such a jerk.
It is 100% time for me to grow the fuck up already. This has nothing to do with you, reader, I know. But as sitemeter is my witness, I will not be posting any more bullshit about how bad I feel about my dad dying. I am a complete ass for doing it once, and I promise never to do it again.
That said, I am out the door to go cash that lottery ticket I bought (you, know, the one I bought because I was thinking that my life is so bad that I deserve to win the lottery... OMFG) yesterday. It hit four numbers. It is worth $482.50, and I have decided I should give the money away.
The suggestion box is open, people. Who should I give it to, and why?
*I can now without obvious unreason surmise that you know I am being sincere - and that I have just the merest wisp of an issue with verbosity, which is the written word way of saying loquacious and voluble and... hey is that you, there, Lola? We're still going to Mustang. I ain't sayin' I plan on growing all the way up, at least not yet. Rome, day. Etc.