Thinking of emailing prof excuse and my rough outline for persuasive speech and say fuck going to class today… I have yet to sleep, it’s fucking ice cold out because spring is never gonna get here let alone is the sun ever going to come out again, and my mind doesn’t want to rest.

My mind doesn’t want to rest because my sister informed me that dad called her and told her that he was taken to the hospital yesterday b/c his leg swelled up bad.  He has a history of blood clots in his legs due to his cigarette smoking.  He told my sister that they didn’t know what was wrong with him, gave him some meds and told him to come back if it wasn’t better in a week.  BULLSHIT.  The real story is they probably ordered a bunch of tests for him and he flat out refused so they did the only thing they could do and that was send him home with some meds.  He is terrified of finding out the true extent of the damage caused by his smoking.  He’s admitted it to me on multiple occasions.

And then he also told her that he fell the other night, busted his head open on the glass oven door, and was bleeding profusely out of the head wound for a good hour before he got it stop.

Just what the fuck… I don’t know what to do anymore.  He needs to go to the doctor and be checked out head to toe.  He nearly falls all the time because of his back, he can barely walk.  He’s only 55 too, but he’s destroyed himself completely.  It’s like watching an old old man.  It just sickens me… not in that I’m disgusted with him, but the fact that cigarettes did this to an previously able bodied person.  It’s like a gawddamn PSA for reasons not to smoke.

He’s scared of finding out he only has 6 months to live or something.  If he did, he acts like the timeline somehow changes if he doesn’t know.  I think he wants to die without knowing death is coming, but I don’t get how he is living now is really any different than having a prognosis.  I want to tell him to stop being so fucking selfish, to think of his children.  Who wants a fucking call that their 50 some year old dad is dead one day?  Because the rate he is going, no way is he going to make it to 60.  Just.. no way.  It kills me to say that, but I know it.

I already just wait for it at times.  Things scare me.  A few months back my sister’s phone malfunctioned and sent me the same text like 12 times, and of course the text was one that would get your blood pressure shot sky high it was “CALL ME NOW”.  I didn’t realize her phone had malfunctioned and I just stood there shaking for the longest time before I could even call her back because I literally thought he was dead or something.

I had a dream a couple weeks ago that he was gone and I realized I would never talk to him again and it broke my heart in my dream and when I woke up.

I randomly save voicemails from him just in case… in case that’s all I have left soon.

When I’m too busy to answer his calls I feel so fucking guilty… what if that is the last time I get a call from him?  God… I hate fucking thinking it.  Knowing it will be reality at some point.

I feel like I’m already watching somebody who is terminal so what’s the fucking difference between knowing all that is wrong with him and not knowing?

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