It’s fortunate, in some ways, to be the sort of person who, when faced with a crisis, can deal with things completely head on, without bothering to see the forest for the damn trees. In spite of how I may appear on paper (blog), I rarely am overtaken with emotions, so I am not reduced to the puddle of excess emotional goo ruining your nice shag carpet (nice shag carpet sounds oxymoronic, doesn’t it?) until much, much later.
I’ve spent each and every day since Thursday taking care of the most bizarre things: my Christmas shopping is completed, I’ve written and addressed about half of my Christmas cards, the house DOES NOT look like a tornado ran through it. But each thing I do is a semblence of what I would normally do. I’m like a bundle of nervous energy flitting from thing to thing to thing, attention to details thrown by the wayside in favor of trying to do about 1,797 things at the very same moment.
It seems easier to focus on the superficial motions of TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS than on what has just happened to my father.
But, as all good things are wont to do, it has come to an end, and I can feel every single horrible emotion welling up from within. I am now paying back with 99.9% interest everything that I have repressed. My throat is lumpy, and against all odds, it feels as though my right eyeball has just come back from a wicked battle, so much so that it now hurts to blink (I am not even pretending to understand this).
I’m fine, I will BE fine, because I am as predictable as a tax bill: I am always fine, even when I’m not.
My father himself would like to express his gratitude for all of the well-wishes and prayers that the Internet has offered (he called all of you his “second daughters” which is a high form of praise for him). Although he doesn’t specifically know about my blog (It seems easier that way. It’s not as though he wouldn’t appreciate parts of it, but I think I would feel weird knowing that my father has heard me tell the world about my vagina.), he knows that there are people out there who care about his well being, and that is what matters.
I’d try and be funny right now, but it would seem more forced than I care to be, so I’m just going to leave this as it is and not pretend to suddenly feel jolly and witty and annoying. I’m fairly sure, as I’ve been down this road before, that by tomorrow morning, I should feel far better, and will return with more hilariously stupid crap that I do.
My father is fine, my family is fine, and suddenly, I am no longer fine. I guess this is why God invented Jack Daniels, eh?