Monday, September 22, 2008



Say my dad dies when i'm on the Inca Trail.
What then?

Say he dies before the 40th wedding anniversary party?

Say he just plum dies of boredom because the broadly futile attempts to breathe in and out just get too too much too be bothered with anymore, when you can't go anywhere and you can't do anything?

Happy birthday Dad. Thanks for driving me around this weekend so I could buy my Shewee (more on that later).
I'm selfishly glad that you're still here and totally sad that it's all such an ongoing bind and struggle.

I'm also very pleased that you liked my amazing dessert on Saturday so much that you spontaneously started eating it before i'd even lifted my fork.

You're still one of the fastest studies on the planet and see what others miss.
And can be very funny, both on purpose and accidentally (mashpina - warm scarf to go round shoulders; Anal and Millerey - Alan and Hillary Miller. Nearly.)

I hope your chest infection eases off and that tomorrow everything goes your way.
i'll be calling you from my taxi and then from the airport and then from the other airport.

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