My dad's actually doing better today. Still sick, still depressed, still weak, still very silent - but at least he's able to follow a conversation and parttake in it.

I thought it was Easter time
The way the light rose
Rose that morning
Lately you've been on my mind
You showed me the ropes
Ropes to climb
Over mountains
And to pull myself
Out of a landslide
Of a landslide
I thought it was harvest time
You always loved the smell of the wood burning
She with her honey hair
Dalhousie Castle
She would meet you there
In the winter
Butter yellow
The flames you stirred
Yes, you could stir
I raise a glass
Make a toast
A toast in your honor
I hear you laugh
And beg me not to dance
On your right standing by
Is Mr. Bojangles
With a toast he's telling me it's time
To raise a glass
Make a toast
A toast in your honor
I hear you laugh and beg me not to dance
On your right standing is
Mr. Bojangles
With a toast he's telling me it's time
To let you go
Let you go
I thought I'd see you again
You said you might do
Maybe in a carving
In a cathedral
Somewhere in Barcelona

Tonight, I wasn't even able to talk to my dad on the phone because he's been "not quite there" since last night.

And you wouldn't think it would be too fucking much to ask.

Ça y est!

Comme la température semble vouloir contribuer, on ouvre la piscine dans les prochains jours!

(Moi, je suis contente. Raiontzukai a besoin d'être convaincu.)

The subconscious is a funny thing, sometimes.

Like when we had our dog put to sleep. He used to always be so desperately happy to see me when I visited that he let out this brief, high-pitched bark-like sound whenever I would pull into the driveway. And for months after he was gone, whenever I pushed the door to the garage open and heard the squeaking noise it made, for a second I was certain it was the dog barking in excitement.

The door still squeaks, and while now I know it's just a squeak, I still think of the dog each time.

Sometime last month, when my dad was in the hospital, Raiontzukai and I were home, waiting for my mom. I was playing some online game when I heard the door squeak, and something in my head said: "this is Dad coming home".

Because that's the way things used to be. My mom used to spend the weekend home with us when were over, and my dad would come and go as usual, so when the door squeaked, it was always him coming home.

Some nights I dream of my dad. And he's never sick in my dreams. Most of the time he's actually getting better. He's not working again, he's not cancer-free, but he does have a small victory to be happy about, like the simple fact that he's walking again. Not running around, not moving furniture, just standing on his own two feet.

Because, damn it, he should get a small victory once in a while. He should get something, anything. Because pure bitches get to beat cancer and be hated for 20 more years and it shouldn't happen if an honest, hard-working man can't even live to see 60. Or, you know what, I think we'd all settle for 56.

So when the phone rings and I hear it's all supposedly a matter of days know, I struggle to decide whether I should believe it or not. I can't seem to be able to grasp the concept; it just doesn't make sense. Except that it does. Or maybe it really doesn't and it's the whole point. Maybe that's what we're supposed to get down the line, is that we're not supposed to comprehend all of this.

The subconscious is a funny thing, sometimes.

J'ai un salon!

En déménageant, Raiontzukai et moi sommes passés d'un salon minuscule à un salon immense. Celui-ci était donc plutôt vide jusqu'à en fin de semaine, où nous nous sommes rendus chez IKEA pour remédier au problème. Avons obtenu à un prix dérisoire un ma-gni-fi-que tapis ROUGE (Raiontzukai n'était pas certain du look, mais dès qu'on l'a déroulé chez nous, il a été conquis), deux tables basses (placées une à côté de l'autre) et une bibliothèque super cool. Et je tripe!

Nous avons toutefois connu un échec monumental au moment d'acheter les tablettes coulissantes pour le garde-manger. J'avais tout calculé selon les dimensions affichées en ligne, mais j'avais mal compris comment une tablette de 15 po pouvait avoir une largeur de 13 po. Heureusement que je me suis donné la peine de mesurer la tablette sur place, pcq sinon on aurait 5 tiroirs à retourner, et je serais vraiment de mauvaise humeur. Comme notre garde-manger semble de taille non-standard, on travaille à présent sur l'option "tablettes coulissantes sur mesure" et on invoque la gentillesse de la vie pour obtenir un prix pas trop terrifiant...