I thought I was immune to being affected by this particular date, but maybe not so much. Today is my father's birthday. Daddy Jekyll's birthday, anyway. I don't remember Sergeant Hyde ever making an appearance on this day.

The last several days have been interspersed with hypochondriacal preoccupation. I figured out why when I tried to go to sleep and was immediately transported to my father's most unfortunately diseased deathbed. He always hated to lie down flat. Had a fear of it. Made him feel like he was choking and was going to suffocate. Some kind of acid reflux thing or something like that. I always reminded the nurses to never put down his bed and to make sure he had enough pillows. I couldn't stand the thought that he might feel that way and be aware of it and unable to do anything to change it. That morning when I came to his room, the rest of the family was already there. It was standing room only since we all seem to breed like rabbits. It somehow escaped my notice that people were crying. I only saw that he was lying down flat. I could not tolerate this and began to complain loudly. I think it was my sister who said, "Lynn, he's dead." I remember asking, quite skeptically, "Are they sure?" "Yes. Very sure. He's dead." I noticed a couple of things about his body that I still wish I had not noticed, and then I realized that it was most certainly true. He was dead. I remember briefly thinking that he should still not be lying flat. I guess it was after that when my mind went a little blank. I do remember that I did not cry. At least not right then.

I don't know why I needed to share this, but I really did. I think it might have something to do with some of the confusion I have been suffering about a certain thing. I guess the only thing I really know right now is that I need to go to sleep. And I suddenly have a headache. I will try not to think it is an impending stroke or a brain tumor. And to stop raking a certain relationship over the coals and mining for any signs of impending betrayal. And to stop imagining how being betrayed by a trusted other might cause diseases and death. At least for today. Have I mentioned that I hate all this nutjob shit that follows me everywhere? No? Well I do.