I Think I'm Cured

It's been a long time. And I'm not going to sugar coat anything, so, be prepared for facts that slice through human bodies easily and without remorse.

Let's start with the basics: life can fuck you up. That seems circular, I know, but go with it. Truths are vague and ever changing and unfair. Existence is hard, because it is, and also because, if we go in and out of it, is it really existing. Okay. Basics covered.

Now, on to the hard-stuff: Remember my grandma who had the health scare? Well, it wasn't over. As it is with life, things only got worse.

She was finally diagnosed with Giant Cell Arteritis. The devastation is, though, she was diagnosed too late by her back-woods physicians. She has lost complete vision in her right eye and approximately 80% in the other. No peripheral. She'll close her good eye and cry about the "gray mud" she sees. "Gray mud" she'll cry - that's all I see. Now, the 20% she has retained is dim. She calls life the "Dark City" - and it wouldn't be so beautiful if it wasn't so shattering. She'll smile and shake her head and cry and convince me that she'll be fine living in the Dark City.

Yesterday morning she woke up and everything was a little dimmer. She began shaking and crying and we admitted her into the hospital again. This time in Indy. (We'll never go back to Ball Memorial in Muncie. Fuck those guys).

Blindness, guys. We are battling an auto-immune disorder that attacks blood flow to the brain- it's already killed one optic nerve and it's trying so hard to slaughter the other.

We're sad. My papa cries and cries when she's not around. She cries and cries when he's not around. We're all dying in the Dark City.

But I suppose we all are.

I will write more about this somewhere, sometime.

The party's done, the cake's all gone

It happens no matter where you are. You pick favorites. Horse races - favorites. Clothes - favorites. Kids - favorites. Books - favorites. Foods - favorites. Library patrons - favorites. It just, naturally, happens. You connect with something of a likeness. You talk and laugh and talk and laugh and think, "Yep, this is it." I have favorite library patrons/customers - I do. I won't pretend I don't and say things like, "Nope, they all are special" or some shit like that. I will just flat out tell you, I have favorites. It's good to have people who resonate with your soul. I won't apologize for it. Some babies stand out among the mass. Some grown-ups stand out.

If you haven't gathered already, I'm talking about specific library patrons. There's a baby with floppy hair and two, yes, TWO teeth on the same side of his mouth that make him look like a little monster. He knows me. He knows me by my voice because of storytime, he knows me by my smile. He knows me because I love him. This baby has a dad. This dad likes me. We click. We laugh and talk and shoot the shit and laugh again about his family from Louisville and the other babies in storytime. We get each other. He's dapper, you know? Black pea coat, salt 'n' pepper hair, thin framed glasses and a good singing voice - but that's not why I like him. I like because he's nice to his baby and to me and to other parents and because we just have something internal that settles easily and comfortably with one another. We like each other.

Guess what, guys. He just found out he has a brain tumor.

And that's the kind of nonsensical world we live in. Dads get brain tumors. Dads die in fires. Sometimes the dads who deserve to live and be healthy don't and arent'. The Dads who are despicable, you know, the abusers who suck at life, live and are healthy.

This is a somber day, indeed.

god damn it.