Anger ...

I do not feel thirtysomething ... and maybe that's part of the problem here. It's not like I feel sixteen anymore (I'm not sure I ever felt sixteen ... even when I was sixteen, but in any case ... ) I'd say I feel around early to mid twenties. And therein lies the problem ...

I don't feel old enough to be dealing with this overwhelming dose of reality. My parents should still be young. My dad should be out mushroom hunting or going fishing. He should not be lying in a bed in a sterile hospital room ... waiting for some sort of last minute miracle cure that simply isn't going to come.

Tommorrow morning they've scheduled him for paracentesis ... a procedure in which they draw fluid off the abdomen. They're planning to draw off around four liters. I'm not sure if that's a little or a lot ... but I do know that cardiologist gave us a list a mile long of horrific things that could happen (kidney failure, heart failure, etc.) ... and dad still wants it done.

It's like standing in a field, looking at the horizon, seeing terrible black storm clouds rolling in ... and knowing it's going to bad ...