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If you've ever had that moment in a fight where you realize that it's not over yet, but you still lost, that was kinda me a few weeks ago. By yesterday, I'd pretty much put down my gun and began to wonder if I should retreat from the battlefield. Today, I think I'd rather like to pick my gun up and stick it in my mouth and end it. But don't worry, that's just what I'd like to do, not what I AM going to do; so don't worry about that. Now that I'm done with the feelings part of this, you're all wondering why I've posted this blog post on such a wonderous sunny day. Well, some of you probably suspect you know why. Well, on this wrongfuckular, shittastic, craptacular WONDEROUS day, I was asleep until about two thirty. I woke up at about ten thrity breifly and I wondered why my mother didn't bother to wake me for breakfast. Of course I disregarded that, hell, I was gonna sleep in if there was a chance. But hey, sure, go ahead and sleep, Noemi. Forget all about the weird feeling of being somewhat alone in the house. Don't bother to go get breakfast or call your mother at the hospital and ask how you're dad's holding up. Sweet fuckin' dreams for you. And then wake up at two thirty when you're mom's back and say, "So, where'd ya go today, mom?" LIKE ANY OLD FUCKIN' DAY. AND LOOK AT THE SHOCKED EXPRESSION ON YOUR FACE WHEN SHE SAYS, "Your dad passed this morning in his sleep." TAKE A FUCKIN' MOMENT TO THINK WHAT YOU WERE DOING THIS MORNING. SLEEPING. YOU HAD THAT BAD FEELING THAT SOMETHING WAS WRONG AND WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO? YOU WENT BACK TO BED.


Sorry about that. I'm really angry at myself right now. Especially since I knew I should have woken up early and gone to the hospital with my grandma and mom to see him today since I saw how bad he looked yesterday, and I knew he would probably pass on soon. He had pancreatic cancer and liver disease and he didn't go to a doctor fast enough and now it's too late. Just... I knew it was gonna happen, but who the hell's ready to get that kind of news? I'm just so fucking done with all this. He was 53 and he definitely had way more years in him if he hadn't gotten sick. All the memories I had with him... Thirteen years worth... And now it's just going to end? That really fuckin' blows. If you bothered to read this far, have yourself a cookie. I know my little rants aren't fun to read, but yet I still post them... Whatever. Just letting you guys know in case I dissaper or something. (Not likely) Bye then. -Noemi

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