looking through my high school yearbook, it seems to me that everybody believed i'd be doing something great with my life by now. i feel shortchanged. i feel like my opportunities to live up to my potential have been taken away. and now that i finally have another chance to take back my life, i can't seem to seize the moment. i feel as though i've been crushed for good. against all other adversity, i was able to bounce back. but i don't feel myself bouncing. i feel myself shrinking and shriveling and hiding and running.
i feel like every thing i do, i do it just to trudge along. just to graduate on time. but what the hell will i do when i graduate? i just don't know, anymore. i feel like i completely lack the direction and motivation i once had.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
my room is a constant visual reminder of how i run away. there are peruvian postcards plastering the walls. there are maps of cairo and cusco and thailand. there are ramadan lanterns from egypt on my desk, a peruvian rug on my wall, and an egyptian camel stands proudly next to my lanterns. egyptian fabric cut-outs are hammered into the wall above my bed. and on the opposite wall, there are arabic flashcards i bought in the 2.5 pound store on zamalek.
there is one picture in my room of my father holding me as a baby. funny, how when i look at that picture, even then, i run away. i run back in time. i'm always running. escaping. that's what i do.
my room makes me feel guilty. my room is cozy and worldly, but it is also a display of my selfishness, not for material, but for plane tickets.
i feel at my best when i'm running. it's only when i stop and look back that i begin to realize the errors of my ways, my "anywhere but here" mentality. because sometimes, here is where i need to be. here is where i should have been this past year. i should have known...
there is one picture in my room of my father holding me as a baby. funny, how when i look at that picture, even then, i run away. i run back in time. i'm always running. escaping. that's what i do.
my room makes me feel guilty. my room is cozy and worldly, but it is also a display of my selfishness, not for material, but for plane tickets.
i feel at my best when i'm running. it's only when i stop and look back that i begin to realize the errors of my ways, my "anywhere but here" mentality. because sometimes, here is where i need to be. here is where i should have been this past year. i should have known...
i've begun writing letters to him, but i never seem to finish them.
i didn't smoke today. i didn't want to. i thought i lost my wallet....again. i hyperventilated because i did not know how i would manage to photocopy my paper for class, let alone get to school without a metrocard, money, my debit card, my credit card, my mom's credit card, and all of the other cards i've lost about a dozen times because i have awful luck with wallets and awful luck in general. so i tore apart my room and began to shake. i couldn't breath. then i found it in a place i thought i'd looked a billion times. once calm and reassured, i thought about how awful it was the moment i thought my wallet was gone and i began hyperventilating again. somehow, i was so relieved i panicked.
the copy machine inevitably broke. i had to wait. i tapped my foot. i took a taxi to school. i used my credit card because i felt guilty using mom's the way i almost always do. i made sure to press, "credit," not "cash," because last time i took a cab, i accidentally pressed "cash" when i had none, and i had to go to an atm upon arrival at my destination. i probably could have gotten away with going straight to class without paying, but i'm your everyday sucker.
in the cab we passed the hospital. we passed the pizzeria from which i bought lunch? dinner? who remembers? but anyway, i brought it up to the room in which my dad was staying in a hospital bed and my mom was sleeping on a chair or two. that was the day after the doctors told us he only had a few weeks. but i didn't really understand just yet. i was able to eat my pizza and enjoy it. it was unseasonably warm that day and i relished in sunlight dancing on my skin.
that day, or perhaps the next one, my dad and i walked down the hall together. it seemed like such a struggle then, but he could still walk without a whole lot of help and he could still follow what was on the tv in the hospital sitting room and he could still talk to me about classes. he could do a lot more then than he can do now.
the day we left, he had forgotten how to use his cell phone. he didn't understand what it was, or how to make calls and pick them up. he thought his phone was the same as the remote he used to call the nurses when he was in pain or needed to use the bathroom. he tried to call us for help, but he was confused.
when his stuff was packed, he told me he was scared. he hadn't wanted to come to the hospital and he hadn't wanted to stay, but now he was afraid to go home, where there wouldn't be a call button or nurses 24/7. that's why he said he was afraid, but i think it was really because he knew he'd never be coming back to the hospital. he would die at home. i took his hand and told him it would be OK. when we got into the car service, he sat in the front and gave directions perfectly.
***
today i tried to squeeze my feet into uncomfortable shoes. today i watched a movie about a school shooting. today i woke up ashamed and confused. today i felt myself starting to go mad. today i didn't feel like smoking, because i don't think even cigarettes can help me [relax] anymore.
***
we walked the stairs together the first few days back home. it took about 20 minutes to scale two flights. he lost his breath repeatedly. after about two days, he stopped bothering to leave the bedroom. visitors came to him. once when i was there, he left the room and walked across the hall to his study with his oxygen tank plugged in. he checked his email and gave the computer an upgrade. on october 2 he sent me an email. i was in the room. i'd asked him to send a link to my email, and he did, as he was still able to. it was the last email he sent to me. i think i knew that then.
***
just over a week before he died, he quizzed me on middle eastern history. i got a 97.5 on that exam, but he was dead by the time i got it back.
***
i had to study that week, so i wasn't home much. i thought i had more time. at least, i told myself i did. those days, i walked the halls a lot in the middle of the night. i worried something was happening. that i'd get a phone call telling me he was gone. but when i didn't get a call and didn't get a call and didn't get a call a part of me stopped believing that i'd ever get one. each day that wasn't the day gave me reassurance that it wouldn't happen because it hadn't happened yet.
but when i came home, i had exactly a week minus a few hours left with my father.
that day, i quizzed him on our life. he'd started to forget things because the toxins from his failed liver were messing with his brain, and in short, he was scared. we took out a subway map and i pointed to landmarks. what's in coney island? i asked him. and what is at kings highway? avenue m? what trains go to 68th street? what are our cats names? where were your born? what is my birthday?
that day, he asked me to wear a post-it with my named and phone number. he wore his own post-it i'd written out for him with the names of everyone in the family and all of our contact info.
he grew tired of the quiz and told me he needed a nap. as he was getting into bed, he grabbed my hand and said, honey, don't let them take me away.
what?
if i don't remember things, honey, don't let them send me somewhere else.
i won't. i promise, daddy.
***
blood is gushing from his mouth which means he probably had internal bleeding. as his muscles relax, the bleeding from inside comes out. eyes are rolling back and forwards. he is gasping. suffocating.
***
i am standing in the shower. i feel myself doubled over. my face is sucked into itself. i cry without tears or sound. hot water drips and drips and drips. i emerge and look the same as ever, somehow.
***
today i sat on my floor and stared at my hands in the mirror. it was the first time i noticed how they've aged, with the veins just a bit more visible than they used to be. today i didn't have much appetite. today i spent about an hour browsing the netflix instant queue until i found a movie prominently featuring the subjects of death and decay. today i meant to go to sleep at midnight but instead i watched the movie i located and i reveled in the gunshots and bodies and blood. today i downloaded the dresden dolls because their music sounds angry and urgent and upbeat all at once. today i didn't smoke. i didn't want to. instead i thought about sex and certain text messages and played around with hangers. today i found a mildly deep scratch on my left arm. i've stroked it about a thousand times and i still can't remember how i got it.
***
the night after i quizzed him on our life, my mom came upstairs and told me that daddy was delusional and had asked for me. i'd heard her footsteps before i heard her voice. i thought it had happened, was happening, that this was it. is he going to be ok? she didn't answer. i arrived downstairs and found him attempting to detach his morphine pump. he cried to me. his voice was high pitched, emasculated. they won't let me take it off, he cried. tracy, honey, help me get rid of it.
i'll help you. you don't have to have it if you don't want it. but you have to wait until the morning so the doctors can take it off. then you'll go back to the other pain medications. is that what you want?
yes. he tugs at his morphine.
you just need to wait until morning.
no, i'm going to call the doctors now.
he grabs he phone.
you can't call until the morning, my mom lectures.
just let him call, i give in. let him hear from the doctors that he needs to wait until morning.
but that's not the right number...
he begins dialing as my mom protests in the background. he tries to explain to the other end of the line what he has just painstakingly explained to my mom and me. but the other line does not understand what makes so much sense to him, so the other line hangs up.
to appease him for the last few hours of night, i made him a photo copy of his doctor's phone numbers. he cuddled the original and he cuddled the copy. paper clipped them to his puke green shirt as though holding onto the papers was akin to holding onto his life. my mom wanted one of the copies, but he did not want to part with any of them.
my mom was angry with him. she was in her study playing games on the computer. she was angry because he didn't trust her. it's not him, i told her.
i made another copy for him. three was not enough, he told me. i made another. four was the magic number. he finally parted with one copy.
tell mom that you love her and you trust her, i pleaded. she's upset.
he agreed. i went to sleep.
***
i broke my promise to him.
when he died, i let them take him away.
***
i didn't smoke today. i didn't want to. i thought i lost my wallet....again. i hyperventilated because i did not know how i would manage to photocopy my paper for class, let alone get to school without a metrocard, money, my debit card, my credit card, my mom's credit card, and all of the other cards i've lost about a dozen times because i have awful luck with wallets and awful luck in general. so i tore apart my room and began to shake. i couldn't breath. then i found it in a place i thought i'd looked a billion times. once calm and reassured, i thought about how awful it was the moment i thought my wallet was gone and i began hyperventilating again. somehow, i was so relieved i panicked.
the copy machine inevitably broke. i had to wait. i tapped my foot. i took a taxi to school. i used my credit card because i felt guilty using mom's the way i almost always do. i made sure to press, "credit," not "cash," because last time i took a cab, i accidentally pressed "cash" when i had none, and i had to go to an atm upon arrival at my destination. i probably could have gotten away with going straight to class without paying, but i'm your everyday sucker.
in the cab we passed the hospital. we passed the pizzeria from which i bought lunch? dinner? who remembers? but anyway, i brought it up to the room in which my dad was staying in a hospital bed and my mom was sleeping on a chair or two. that was the day after the doctors told us he only had a few weeks. but i didn't really understand just yet. i was able to eat my pizza and enjoy it. it was unseasonably warm that day and i relished in sunlight dancing on my skin.
that day, or perhaps the next one, my dad and i walked down the hall together. it seemed like such a struggle then, but he could still walk without a whole lot of help and he could still follow what was on the tv in the hospital sitting room and he could still talk to me about classes. he could do a lot more then than he can do now.
the day we left, he had forgotten how to use his cell phone. he didn't understand what it was, or how to make calls and pick them up. he thought his phone was the same as the remote he used to call the nurses when he was in pain or needed to use the bathroom. he tried to call us for help, but he was confused.
when his stuff was packed, he told me he was scared. he hadn't wanted to come to the hospital and he hadn't wanted to stay, but now he was afraid to go home, where there wouldn't be a call button or nurses 24/7. that's why he said he was afraid, but i think it was really because he knew he'd never be coming back to the hospital. he would die at home. i took his hand and told him it would be OK. when we got into the car service, he sat in the front and gave directions perfectly.
***
today i tried to squeeze my feet into uncomfortable shoes. today i watched a movie about a school shooting. today i woke up ashamed and confused. today i felt myself starting to go mad. today i didn't feel like smoking, because i don't think even cigarettes can help me [relax] anymore.
***
we walked the stairs together the first few days back home. it took about 20 minutes to scale two flights. he lost his breath repeatedly. after about two days, he stopped bothering to leave the bedroom. visitors came to him. once when i was there, he left the room and walked across the hall to his study with his oxygen tank plugged in. he checked his email and gave the computer an upgrade. on october 2 he sent me an email. i was in the room. i'd asked him to send a link to my email, and he did, as he was still able to. it was the last email he sent to me. i think i knew that then.
***
just over a week before he died, he quizzed me on middle eastern history. i got a 97.5 on that exam, but he was dead by the time i got it back.
***
i had to study that week, so i wasn't home much. i thought i had more time. at least, i told myself i did. those days, i walked the halls a lot in the middle of the night. i worried something was happening. that i'd get a phone call telling me he was gone. but when i didn't get a call and didn't get a call and didn't get a call a part of me stopped believing that i'd ever get one. each day that wasn't the day gave me reassurance that it wouldn't happen because it hadn't happened yet.
but when i came home, i had exactly a week minus a few hours left with my father.
that day, i quizzed him on our life. he'd started to forget things because the toxins from his failed liver were messing with his brain, and in short, he was scared. we took out a subway map and i pointed to landmarks. what's in coney island? i asked him. and what is at kings highway? avenue m? what trains go to 68th street? what are our cats names? where were your born? what is my birthday?
that day, he asked me to wear a post-it with my named and phone number. he wore his own post-it i'd written out for him with the names of everyone in the family and all of our contact info.
he grew tired of the quiz and told me he needed a nap. as he was getting into bed, he grabbed my hand and said, honey, don't let them take me away.
what?
if i don't remember things, honey, don't let them send me somewhere else.
i won't. i promise, daddy.
***
blood is gushing from his mouth which means he probably had internal bleeding. as his muscles relax, the bleeding from inside comes out. eyes are rolling back and forwards. he is gasping. suffocating.
***
i am standing in the shower. i feel myself doubled over. my face is sucked into itself. i cry without tears or sound. hot water drips and drips and drips. i emerge and look the same as ever, somehow.
***
today i sat on my floor and stared at my hands in the mirror. it was the first time i noticed how they've aged, with the veins just a bit more visible than they used to be. today i didn't have much appetite. today i spent about an hour browsing the netflix instant queue until i found a movie prominently featuring the subjects of death and decay. today i meant to go to sleep at midnight but instead i watched the movie i located and i reveled in the gunshots and bodies and blood. today i downloaded the dresden dolls because their music sounds angry and urgent and upbeat all at once. today i didn't smoke. i didn't want to. instead i thought about sex and certain text messages and played around with hangers. today i found a mildly deep scratch on my left arm. i've stroked it about a thousand times and i still can't remember how i got it.
***
the night after i quizzed him on our life, my mom came upstairs and told me that daddy was delusional and had asked for me. i'd heard her footsteps before i heard her voice. i thought it had happened, was happening, that this was it. is he going to be ok? she didn't answer. i arrived downstairs and found him attempting to detach his morphine pump. he cried to me. his voice was high pitched, emasculated. they won't let me take it off, he cried. tracy, honey, help me get rid of it.
i'll help you. you don't have to have it if you don't want it. but you have to wait until the morning so the doctors can take it off. then you'll go back to the other pain medications. is that what you want?
yes. he tugs at his morphine.
you just need to wait until morning.
no, i'm going to call the doctors now.
he grabs he phone.
you can't call until the morning, my mom lectures.
just let him call, i give in. let him hear from the doctors that he needs to wait until morning.
but that's not the right number...
he begins dialing as my mom protests in the background. he tries to explain to the other end of the line what he has just painstakingly explained to my mom and me. but the other line does not understand what makes so much sense to him, so the other line hangs up.
to appease him for the last few hours of night, i made him a photo copy of his doctor's phone numbers. he cuddled the original and he cuddled the copy. paper clipped them to his puke green shirt as though holding onto the papers was akin to holding onto his life. my mom wanted one of the copies, but he did not want to part with any of them.
my mom was angry with him. she was in her study playing games on the computer. she was angry because he didn't trust her. it's not him, i told her.
i made another copy for him. three was not enough, he told me. i made another. four was the magic number. he finally parted with one copy.
tell mom that you love her and you trust her, i pleaded. she's upset.
he agreed. i went to sleep.
***
i broke my promise to him.
when he died, i let them take him away.
***
Monday, November 29, 2010
Friday, November 26, 2010
fuck, the feelings are coming.
sitting in my peruvian chompa in a cozy new england home, this is probably what most "real" thanksgivings feel like.
the holidays are not that much harder than every other day. they are hard, of course, but every second is a struggle. i don't think one goes by i don't remember. yet, somehow, i am still functioning and remembering at once. i am multitasking. i don't know how my brain has this capacity, not to move on but even to go on, but it just does...
i ate a lot today. it is thanksgiving after all, and i let go of my rigid diet plan for the day. i feel bad about it, but not too bad. i just wish there were something i could control, or at least, something i wouldn't lose control of on the rare occasion i had it in my grasp.
but maybe i never have. maybe every time i create a strict diet plan for myself it's because i'm actually NOT in control...of what i put into my mouth, of how i look, who i love, the family i was born into, of life and death and of my father's death. it's as unchangeable as DNA, every last bit of fate, it seems, is woven into a changeless coil like my green eyes and brown hair and pale combination skin with discolored spots that are still fading. control is floating somewhere, intangible, visible only to those who do not seek it. when i am most in control, i am also least in control. i control what i eat to prove i own my fate, but the truth is, i am just its co-captain. i don't believe in god, just sick coincidence, and something larger than me, holding me back even as i sweat and grit my teeth and cry and bite down on ropes until they break. even as i try to change everything, it is really only prudent to try for some of those things, most of which won't do a darn bit of changing for all of my trying.
i cried for three days last week. i never cry, but there it was.
it's almost as though i lost my memory for those days. something took over my body. an animal. an alter-ego. something made me shake from the outside in as i remembered hoisting daddy up and dabbing his lips with water when he was too weak to drink. i sobbed as i remembered the strength it took to hold him, everything i had...the strength it took to watch the blood gushing from his mouth as he took his last breaths. it all came back. it comes again and again and this is what i was afraid of: that once i started, i wouldn't stop. i wouldn't be able to. i wouldn't have the strength, the resolve, or the control.
i filtered our email correspondences and spent an hour looking through them. most emails were mundane, but it didn't matter. they were beautiful and painful because they exist, because they mean he existed and was well enough to send me an email on october second, less than 2 months ago.
alone.
this was all alone. this pain is alone. it is thanksgiving and i want to be thankful and gracious for all that i have, but it hardly seems to matter when one of two people in the world who loved me unconditionally is gone. there is other love, and other love is beautiful in its way, but there is no such love as this one.
my dad and i were never really close because we didn't usually have much to say to each other, but we were close in our way. we took comfort in each other's company. we watched a lot of movies because we could be together without talking, and afterwards, we'd have something to talk about. who will i talk to about movies now? who will talk to me about movies the way my dad talked to me in his sing-song i-know-more-than-you gentle lecture voice? good god, who will even watch the sort of awful nazi movies the two of us watched together? who will force me to sit through films about hitler and wwII?
am i really going on? or am i just going? am i even doing that? what am i doing? who am i without my daddy? i've never known life without him.
he's been visiting me in dreams. and nightmares, but nothing...nothing is the same. my subconscious knew this before i did. i was still trying to micromanage every aspect of my life when my phantom father tried to kill me in my sleep.
***
when i have everything under control, that's when everything is falling apart. i am.
seriously, when does the world around you crumble and leave you intact?
when things seem alright, i am just gritting my teeth and faking. nothing is under control. i am not.
until last week, i hadn't smoked in a year and a half. i bought pack and smoked 4 cigarettes in a row. i went out, came back, and smoked another two. i just sat on the ground in a corner, felt the heat in my lungs, breathed and watched people coming and going. the next day i stood on the roof of hunter college and smoked another 3. i was alone on the roof, appropriately. and it was night and cold and i watched cars and people chugging along below me. an hour later, i was doubled over in pain from cramps on a couch in school. people asked if i was ok. yes, i told them, thanks, i'm fine. truth is overrated, anyway.
i tell myself i'm not becoming an addict. i tell myself i have this new habit is under control. i tell myself i can't afford to buy another pack so this one will be my first and my last. truth is overrated, anyway. if i'm being truthful, i don't care about any of those things. i just want to self-destruct. i want to be disease-ridden so i can suffer like my father and go where he went.
i am weak. every bit of strength has been drained from me, and i suppose i am ready to give in and let badness take over...at least for a while. i need to feel.
these are the most powerful feelings i've ever felt, but fuck, i can no longer run from myself.
the holidays are not that much harder than every other day. they are hard, of course, but every second is a struggle. i don't think one goes by i don't remember. yet, somehow, i am still functioning and remembering at once. i am multitasking. i don't know how my brain has this capacity, not to move on but even to go on, but it just does...
i ate a lot today. it is thanksgiving after all, and i let go of my rigid diet plan for the day. i feel bad about it, but not too bad. i just wish there were something i could control, or at least, something i wouldn't lose control of on the rare occasion i had it in my grasp.
but maybe i never have. maybe every time i create a strict diet plan for myself it's because i'm actually NOT in control...of what i put into my mouth, of how i look, who i love, the family i was born into, of life and death and of my father's death. it's as unchangeable as DNA, every last bit of fate, it seems, is woven into a changeless coil like my green eyes and brown hair and pale combination skin with discolored spots that are still fading. control is floating somewhere, intangible, visible only to those who do not seek it. when i am most in control, i am also least in control. i control what i eat to prove i own my fate, but the truth is, i am just its co-captain. i don't believe in god, just sick coincidence, and something larger than me, holding me back even as i sweat and grit my teeth and cry and bite down on ropes until they break. even as i try to change everything, it is really only prudent to try for some of those things, most of which won't do a darn bit of changing for all of my trying.
i cried for three days last week. i never cry, but there it was.
it's almost as though i lost my memory for those days. something took over my body. an animal. an alter-ego. something made me shake from the outside in as i remembered hoisting daddy up and dabbing his lips with water when he was too weak to drink. i sobbed as i remembered the strength it took to hold him, everything i had...the strength it took to watch the blood gushing from his mouth as he took his last breaths. it all came back. it comes again and again and this is what i was afraid of: that once i started, i wouldn't stop. i wouldn't be able to. i wouldn't have the strength, the resolve, or the control.
i filtered our email correspondences and spent an hour looking through them. most emails were mundane, but it didn't matter. they were beautiful and painful because they exist, because they mean he existed and was well enough to send me an email on october second, less than 2 months ago.
alone.
this was all alone. this pain is alone. it is thanksgiving and i want to be thankful and gracious for all that i have, but it hardly seems to matter when one of two people in the world who loved me unconditionally is gone. there is other love, and other love is beautiful in its way, but there is no such love as this one.
my dad and i were never really close because we didn't usually have much to say to each other, but we were close in our way. we took comfort in each other's company. we watched a lot of movies because we could be together without talking, and afterwards, we'd have something to talk about. who will i talk to about movies now? who will talk to me about movies the way my dad talked to me in his sing-song i-know-more-than-you gentle lecture voice? good god, who will even watch the sort of awful nazi movies the two of us watched together? who will force me to sit through films about hitler and wwII?
am i really going on? or am i just going? am i even doing that? what am i doing? who am i without my daddy? i've never known life without him.
he's been visiting me in dreams. and nightmares, but nothing...nothing is the same. my subconscious knew this before i did. i was still trying to micromanage every aspect of my life when my phantom father tried to kill me in my sleep.
***
when i have everything under control, that's when everything is falling apart. i am.
seriously, when does the world around you crumble and leave you intact?
when things seem alright, i am just gritting my teeth and faking. nothing is under control. i am not.
until last week, i hadn't smoked in a year and a half. i bought pack and smoked 4 cigarettes in a row. i went out, came back, and smoked another two. i just sat on the ground in a corner, felt the heat in my lungs, breathed and watched people coming and going. the next day i stood on the roof of hunter college and smoked another 3. i was alone on the roof, appropriately. and it was night and cold and i watched cars and people chugging along below me. an hour later, i was doubled over in pain from cramps on a couch in school. people asked if i was ok. yes, i told them, thanks, i'm fine. truth is overrated, anyway.
i tell myself i'm not becoming an addict. i tell myself i have this new habit is under control. i tell myself i can't afford to buy another pack so this one will be my first and my last. truth is overrated, anyway. if i'm being truthful, i don't care about any of those things. i just want to self-destruct. i want to be disease-ridden so i can suffer like my father and go where he went.
i am weak. every bit of strength has been drained from me, and i suppose i am ready to give in and let badness take over...at least for a while. i need to feel.
these are the most powerful feelings i've ever felt, but fuck, i can no longer run from myself.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
dreams:
1. it was like when i lost the larger half of my baby blanket. once i got used to having the smaller half, it wasn't so bad. in my dream there was half of my father, it was his body, with half of his memories. he called himself my dad's brother, but really, he was my dad.
2. started out mundane. went to concert at brookdale. arrived late, as people were leaving. walked back to room. girl complaining loudly on her cell phone. in elevator with chinese family. talked to them. got out of elevator and walked down hall to find my door open and the light on. resembled a hotel room. at first i think brookdale is doing another inspection, but when i look in, i see 3 dads in the room. one is corpse on the floor. one is on the bed, face half covered. it looks like he is wearing a face mask. one is sitting in a chair over bed. i walk in, incredulous that my father is alive and that there are 3 of them. "leave me alone, tracy." says the one on the chair. "but..what are you doing here..." no answer. the one on the bed grabs my hand. it is not cold, not warm. i hold his hand for a minute, until i feel a needle on my face. he is trying to stick me with it. i cry and tell him to stop before awakening.
1. it was like when i lost the larger half of my baby blanket. once i got used to having the smaller half, it wasn't so bad. in my dream there was half of my father, it was his body, with half of his memories. he called himself my dad's brother, but really, he was my dad.
2. started out mundane. went to concert at brookdale. arrived late, as people were leaving. walked back to room. girl complaining loudly on her cell phone. in elevator with chinese family. talked to them. got out of elevator and walked down hall to find my door open and the light on. resembled a hotel room. at first i think brookdale is doing another inspection, but when i look in, i see 3 dads in the room. one is corpse on the floor. one is on the bed, face half covered. it looks like he is wearing a face mask. one is sitting in a chair over bed. i walk in, incredulous that my father is alive and that there are 3 of them. "leave me alone, tracy." says the one on the chair. "but..what are you doing here..." no answer. the one on the bed grabs my hand. it is not cold, not warm. i hold his hand for a minute, until i feel a needle on my face. he is trying to stick me with it. i cry and tell him to stop before awakening.
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