to reach you. ugh. i feel like shit. im hot.. im cold.. i have goosebumps.. im melting again. not in that friendly drug induced way but in the something forgein wreaking havoc on my body way and making me ill. did i mention i have cramps? hah. go go gadget weekend! im supposed to work in less than an hour and i cant stop wishing for some sort of natural disaster to strike so i dont have to go.. and i can crawl back under the cozy down comforter and leave one leg sticking out to balance my changing body temperature and be whisked off to dreamland. float on clouds and fight evil with my ray gun. is that too much to ask? i cant breeeeathe. *whine* but anyways... i tried to start an entry last night.. and i never finished.. because im like that. and im sick. cut me some slack. yesterday was surreal at times.. or maybe im just too surreal.. im still not sure. school is school is school.. so for some reason i decided to work with these overpriced oilbars i bought before christmas.. and i drew this sort of red and black patch with i dunno. i was trying to capture disease. ive tried before and never come close... i want to capture the vision of it taking over someones body.. how it just lives inside and grows and takes over and you cant stop it.. i drew this spot and i thought about my dad. i thought about disease taking over his body and eventually killing him.. i thought about how it feels. i wonder if he was scared. i thought about it for a long time sitting there with my oilbars.. i wonder if he was scared. i hope not. i dont like to believe he was.. what do you think when you know youre going to die? i wonder if he even knew... he must of. i knew.. i knew and i ran and hide like a fucking coward. i went and i saw him in the hospital.. my mom taking me out of religious education class to tell me. i remember that day. i hated the hospital. i hated seeing him there. i hated the smell of it. i still feel weird anytime i go in one.. it goes hand in hand with my fear of nursing homes. his bed was by the window. i saw him there the first time.. and that was when things were going to be ok.. that was before we had a clue. i saw him in the bed... i dont even remember what i said or did. i just know i hated it.. i hope he wasnt scared. because i was. i remember seeing a sign on the door.. under someone elses name.. saying Easy Fail.. at least i think that was it.. and i asked my mom what it meant.. and she told me they were at risk of heart failure or.. risk of dying.. something like that. and the next time i went back that sign was under my dads name.. and i knew. she didnt have to tell me or explain. i knew he wasnt getting better. i knew he was going to die.. and i hid from it. i still hate myself for it.. i never went back there after seeing the sign.. because i knew. and i didnt want to see him die. and i dont even remember how many days went by.. maybe one or two.. but then somehow my mom told us it was going to happen.. but i already knew. id already been crying to myself. and that night he was gone. and her friend came over to watch us.. and she went to the hospital.. and i went to school the next day like nothing happened... because i didnt want to sit and think about it and dwell and reminisce that he was gone. i went to school and i didnt tell anyone. i wanted it to be a secret. i didnt want any attention. but a teacher came up to me and asked me something about who died? because they saw the name in the paper.. and i told her. my dad. and i can picture the teachers whispering .. maybe because i said it with a straight face, that i cant seem to muster now. i remember sleeping over lynettes house.. and she didnt know. and i guess everyone reads the paper. and her mom told her.. and asked me about it.. and i remember her big red house.. and i didnt really talk about it. im ok. im OK. IM OK. no one could make it better. talking couldnt change it or fix it or anything. i just wanted to keep it inside.. safe with me. days and months and years went by and i never really talked about it. and no one would bring it up because it was something kids didnt deal with then..maybe thats why i still fucking cry about it now. or because now im older and hes not here to be proud of me.. hes here i know. in a spiritual way.. but sometimes its not the same. sometimes you wonder how itd be now if he was here. i thought about this yesterday as i tried to capture disease.. and i turned it into a collage of my dad. well.. maybe it will be .. if i finish it.. i have a notebook of his from college.. and i tore a bunch of pages up all his words about history. i tore them up and put them together amidst the red and black disease and the outline scrawls of a person.. i glued them all down fast.. without attention..and then i stopped for a minute and looked at it. and looked at the words.. and there was three words in different writing.. where the face would have been.. three little words in darker writing.. bolder pen marks.. and it was just three small words. 'to reach you' and it took alot to not cry when i saw them.. cry because i missed him.. and cry because i saw them. cry because people tell me over and over that there are all these signs that i ignore in life.. signs that things are bigger than this life.. bigger than art and subways and daily monotony. signs that maybe hes still out there trying to get to me.. and im too busy trying to pretend its ok and that im made of steel that i forget to pay attention.. that i forget to let him know that i am still here... and i miss him like crazy...and im sorry i wasnt there in the end.. im sorry i ran away.. i loved you too much to watch you suffer. i love you. and i never stopped. half of the stars are all for you. * |