Finding a Sickness I Like...

I found the perfect listening station for while I'm at work. I go to the Indie Rock Station, and I'm flooded with goodies like Interpol, Franz Ferdinand, Modest Mouse, all sorts of joy.

This is playing--from Spoon:

We go out in stormy weather
We rarely practice discern
We make love to some with sin
We seek out the taciturn

And that's the way we get by to
Way we get by
Aw that's the way we get by to
Way we get by

We found a new kinda dance in a magazine
Try it on, it's like nothin' you've ever seen
You sweet talk like a cop, an' you know it
You bought a new bag of pot
So let's make a new start
And that's the way to my heart to
Way to my heart

And that's the way we get by to
Way we get by
And that's the way we get by to

We get high in backseats of cars
We put faith in our concerns
Fall in love to down the streak
We believe in the sum of ourselves

I feel it's an accurate description of my odd little world.

***********************

I get an email from Dad this morning. He's having an immediate angioplasty. Right about now, actually. Apparently there's some blockage. It will, of course, prevent him from going to Paris as originally planned. The level of irony regarding my dad having heart troubles is astounding.

Obviously, despite all the history and all the bullshit, I am concerned. I am a ball of conflicting opinions. Mixed in there with my own panic attacks thinking about surgery and being cut open. Once again, I can turn something that has nothing to do with me right back around.

See? Here's the world. And if you look now, it actually is revolving around me.

Actually, I think having a panic attack about surgery is more palatable than sorting out all these feelings in regard to the current circumstance.

I called Freda.

"He's going to be fine."

I don't even know how I feel about that.

I suppose I'm a bad person. I suppose I'm just Worn Out from it all. This is why I'm not big on dwelling on the past. It just makes my stomach crawl around in my torso and I feel faint. I don't know which father went into surgery--Old Dad or New Dad. Either way, I don't know how I feel about Dead Dad. I suppose I'm a bad person.

Sometimes it's just too much to think about.

Sometimes you just need the water to be placid.

Sometimes your heart doesn't listen to your head.

Sometimes internal conflict expresses itself physically.

Sometimes people die.

Sometime you will die and so will I.

Sometime. Now time?

It's no longer a question of staying healthy. It's a question of finding a sickness you like.
--Jackie Mason (1934 - )