I wish I would stop having dreams about my Father. Last night he called on the telephone in my dream and asked me how I was. "Shitty, Dad, really God-damned shitty." He was quiet for a minute and then, "Yeah. I'm doing shitty too."
Almost constantly I feel as though I've been kicked in the stomach. A few weeks before he died he asked me how I would handle it when he passed away. I didn't really answer then but I can now.
"Really shitty Dad."

Oh yeah. Happy Thanksgiving.

Music: Father and Son-Cat Stevens