I see her old and frail and sick. Barely able to articulate anything. Shaky. Disoriented. This is what it comes down to, after ninety years of living: being a child, but without the perks. Slowly disintegrating.
Seeing her feels like a gut punch. Every time. A gut punch of pain and guilt pangs.
I can’t imagine what must go through her mind. I can’t imagine how it feels. Or what my father feels.
God, please, please, please give her health. Please, please, please give both my parents the strength, both physical and mental, to help her as much as possible. Please, please, please.
Sleeps seems to be the only thing on my mind these days. Nothing else even remotely seems to matter. I don’t want to read. I don’t want to write. I don’t want to surf channels on my television. I don’t want to watch any of the movies I have lying about in my laptop’s downloads. I don’t want to text anyone. I barely want to scour any of the funny sites.
I just want to close my eyes and drift off.
That is precisely why getting up in the morning is so difficult. It doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that I end up going to bed late every night despite telling myself the whole day that I will sleep early tonight. I wish. But I still don’t.
Dilemma? Sleepy but not wanting to sleep.
Sleep feels like such a waste of time. I could actually be doing something very very important.
I could be reading the best book out there. Writing the next best seller of all those damn lists. Surfing the eighty-plus channels on my local cable. Watching the countless movies that I have lying about. Texting all my awesome friends. Scouring the very many funnies online.
*failed attempt at suppressing a yawn*
I shall just forget to take my finger off the F5 key after pressing publish till I can admit to myself that people are actually going to fall asleep right in the middle of reading th…*snores*.