Friday, Jul. 22, 2005 - 4:27 p.m.

I wasn't going to write here today, but I don't know what else to do with myself. Two weeks later and I am alone. I have time on my hands and to myself. I thought I�d spend it just dozing and reading on my twin brother�s balcony before heading off to dinner with him and our sister later.

But I�m uncomfortable, like I�ve forgotten an appointment. Then I realise I have never spent an afternoon lazing on this balcony because I would be at the assisted living home, the hospital, the palliative care unit, the nursing home, holding my Dad�s hand or running his errands.

It doesn�t feel like I�ve come home yet, ten days later, because I haven�t seen my Dad. So I don�t let myself sit still because I�m scared of what will happen when I stop moving, drinking, typing, being a bitch. I�m scared even though I have been here before.

A beautiful man did not live to a ripe old age, did not give his daughters away at their weddings, slap his son on the back at his, or bounce his grandchildren on his knee. A beautiful man did not get enough time to flirt respectfully with every woman he met, have a beer with his mates, listen to more Johnny Cash.

And a thirty-three year old woman sits in a generic internet shop in a dodgy part of town and feels too young to be an orphan.


Vale, Dad. 13 September 1932 � 8 July 2005
Vale, Mum. 29 November 1931 � 5 August 2000
Vale, Big Brother. 30 May 1966 � 12 July 1996

Please universe, a little room to breathe.


(I�d appreciate no notes / gbook. Thanks)

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