My father is growing ever more difficult to deal with. he's a lovely guy, but time and illness have driven him to alarming extents of bitterness. It's really quite a worry. I know he's not going to do anything to himself but I'm sure he'll destroy all of his emotional connections if we let him. The language that comes-out of his mouth when we're driving somewhere, and his egocentrism and 'with me or against me" mentality have reached frightening degrees. The worst part is that dad is aware of all this, but he gets swept-up in emotion all the time and ends-up ranting like a lunatic or kicking the front of a cupboard in. I keep trying to get him to go to a psychiatrist, but he insists that he already went once and that it didn't help. It may not have then, but it might now.

In other news I am still mortally ill. I am taking it easy drawing pictures of Old Ones and reading Gut Symmetries by Jeanette Winterson. It's an okay book once you get past the self-important noodling of the first few chapters (every paragraph the same structure, everything told in an aphorism).

Myself, I'm thinking of getting back into Clark Ashton Smith.

To the shower!

Tags: cardboard, dad, jeanette winterson, sickness
Current Location: Geelong
Current Mood: sick