My subconscious sent me traipsing through dream jungles last night. I was on some sort of quest to destroy a globe that causes hallucinations and false confidence and the future to happen. There were noodles and stir fry involved. Also a lot of marshes. It was a very nice quest.
I’m going to write a poem about how skinny my dad is getting, and how hard it is to watch one’s parents age. My mom freaked out about water that spilled from the sink to the black granite countertop. Anxiety abounds in her. I dread and look forward to visiting them. On one hand, it’s a homecoming, on the other, it’s a reminder of how neurotic they are.
Four washing machines, my dad has to fix, and four washing machines he had to lift into his truck on his bad back. It’s sad, they don’t need to work like this.
Ah, well, whose life can I live but my own?