If you’re wondering why I haven’t been writing as much as I usually do (work enjoyment has also collapsed by the wayside), this is an approximation of what I think about constantly when Father’s Day begins its approach on my little ice-cold horizon of memory:
It starts a bit over a week before the holiday, and lasts for one week after, because memory fucks with your head like this, and none of my medication is currently making a difference, which is normal for this time of year.
You should see what goes through my head when Mother’s Day comes around. Christmas is probably the worst, followed by Thanksgiving. The Fourth of July is going to be one nice week-long nightmare. I don’t even want to talk about my birthday, which I try to forget ever exists (although obviously it helps that I’m past 21, because it’s hard to buy a good white wine for cooking otherwise).
Sons and daughters should celebrate their fathers… but their fathers have to be good ones. I don’t think that’s said enough, but for once a president has said it.
… it’s stupid, but I can’t even bear to tag this fucking post “father’s day” despite the title being what it is. That’s how stupid my brain is right now.
Yes. Nap now. Maybe see you when the weekend is over.