I am not sure what to write about this month anymore. I considered writing about making art no one wants, or dermatillomania- because it is a shameful form of OCD I have!- or more about trying to openly obsess about fictional characters….
Then I find out my father has taken ill and had to go to the hospital to get sorted out. I’m confused by the whole matter more than scared or worried. I don’t have enough information to be worried. And I don’t want to get angry for not having enough information either. When other people have enough information and the wherewithal to tell me, they will do so. If they don’t, then I can get angry, perhaps. Because it’s not like there is anything I can do to help. I’m on the other side of the continent. Unless my dad wants to do some medical tourism, I don’t know how I could be of service.
I don’t know what the best thing for me to do is.
At all.
Ever.
I’m not ending this year on a down note. Not really. It’s just a very blue note. The song needs to keep going for any of this to make sense… or not… everything is like free jazz around here.