Some things carry us away from routine. Unplanned for, relatives and loved ones bring us from our lives to another state: of worry, of inebriation, of Illinois. In the last 7 years or so, it seems this is happening too damn frequently in our lives. Events take place that leave us looking ahead at empty days. How are we going to fill these hours? I have little to do that aids anyone, but still, want to feel helpful. So I drive the store for more beer. What else can I do? Maybe we’re just getting old.
When it comes down to it: we are pretty helpless. The ZFs have gotten expert at offering help: cleaning, cooking, sitting around, drinking together. Not helping, really, but capable of tricking our minds into thinking we are doing everything we possibly can to help. We ask doctors or nurses what’s really happening. Someone tell us what’s going on.
They never tell you, though. They don’t know, or won’t say. Bastards.
At least I won’t spend the weekend fuming over CPAC. Some things matter. CPAC is not one of them.
So we sit and look at the long hours. Well. If you know us, know that my wife and our baby to come are well. And I am well. And all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well. Saying it feels nice, anyway.