Saturday, July 03, 2004

my thoughts still gravitate her way.
my stomach is still rumbling.

i havent brushed my teeth in days.

Friday, July 02, 2004

my stomach is still upset and my head is still heavy.

my sleep was filled with realistic, unwanted dreams. not nightmares, but bad dreams in which things that are not monsters, that are "bad" happen. but that are also things that could happen, it was like that scene from "the birthday girl." it was real enough to make it a little worrisome.

i wake up on the couch and the dog is at my feet. i try to battle the sunshine off my face but the window and lack of functioning window covers do not make this an easy task. i get up. watch the news. eat about 7 stale cherrios, i dont have a toothbrush here. i ask the dog "want to go out" and with reluctance she comes off the couch, but she doesn't want to go out. she stands aways as i open the door. i coerce her by exiting the house myself and she followed. grandpa's feeds her some of what he eats. i offer her pick 'n save white bread which she doesnt want. he leaves the t.v. on for her, i switched the news off enough violence for her and left her with the cartoons on.

property of u.s. government - not for sale. the va hospital is a bit different than other hospitals, its a bunch of smaller buildings that are not connected, which makes it seem not as formidable, more warm than most of the gigantic hospitals i am used to. his room was mauve, puce and the complimentary blue of those colors. there was a poster-sized dalmation photograph on the wall. his hand was sore, red and dry along the pinky which did twitch more than it didn't. his uniform made me think morrocan, even though it looked like a prison uniform. he took a hit from his "peace pipe" a nebulizer and as he did he fell in and out of sleep. looking down his legs to his ankles i cam upon his socks. which are cut, to make them looser as liquid collects in his legs, which is something i don't quite understand. grandpa's old but plays with it. the nurse comes in and asks him various questions but his answers are indirect enough to make the nurse unsure of his condition. he tells he drove, she asks where's your car? grandpa says i don't know. and pauses, she looks slightly, very-slightly worried. then after enough time elapses he tells her that sercurity moved it for him.

Thursday, July 01, 2004

when we live in the past, it costs us the present.

at my grandpas. a farm. there is an anti-fur sticker on this keyboard: funny.

from an email i sent to Her:
so i got here and there was no one here. so i fell asleep thinking that grandpa would be back at anytime. while asleep i had a dream in which grandpa was sick and was giving my guff for my lack of visits. I wake up and grandpa is still not here. i call home and tell mom, she calls me back and tells me he is in the hospital. but by this time visiting hours are over and i am feeling sullen or something. so i am here on this farmstead by myself and admittedly i am a bit scared. dark and empty. only the sound of the mechanical breathing of grandpa's oxygen machine. he has canned corn and diet 7up. the water is mineral laden.

seperation is healthy, but its hard to come unglued sometimes. no one can be on guard 24/7 and no one can produce the goods for 24/7, so abscence is needed to make the time together more enjoyable. brethers, rest, seem to heighten the time then spent together, sometimes change is hard. even when for the beter.