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2001-08-20

Pop Pop

I doubt I'll have time in the morning to update, so here is my belated (and early, if you think about it, but don't think TOO hard, you might pop a vessel in your head or something) entry. Work is going to be crazy, I know it. I thought about that when I didn't go in today, but it obviously didn't make much of a difference. We had this meeting on Friday afternoon, about the drag in the economy, that all 6 offices in the region are basically fucked unless we all go psycho, pull our hair out and work about 60 hours a week. Well, that applies to the rest of the employees. The two others that do what I do? Well, it's about playing the numbers and crossing your fucking fingers. I had two deals fall through on me Friday, right before that meeting. TWO. I haven't told them yet, I'll have to tomorrow. I'm at my wit's end. And I'm pretty fucking witty, so you can imagine how long it took me to travel all the way to the end.

But enough about work. Let's talk about the other scenes going on in Real Time right now. You already know that my mother's mother is in the hospital. The leg is infected, probably beyond repair, and they may need to amputate. We don't know yet. But she found out this morning that her father is also very ill. He's been losing his sight and now they say he has something called "flibitis" (I don't know how it's spelled). It's some kind of disease where you get blood clots in your legs, and surgery is the only way to keep it from spreading and killing you. If they operate, he will never have the use of his legs again.

Now, this upsets me on a much deeper level than my grandmother's many illnesses. Pop Pop. He's a good man. I visited him last May, grew up across the country and he only sees his four granddaughters on the rare occasion. I remember sitting at his kitchen table in Jersey, the smell of Vanilla tobacco wafting from a pipe my father bought him filling my nostrils, playing cards. He cheats, you know. Always was a sore loser, he cheats at billiards when he plays my sister Heather, who is a shark and has the awards to prove it. Somehow, Pop Pop always won. Shake his shirt, and you might just find an ace of spades sitting there. But that was the joke, he did it for fun, was so obvious about his cheating that it was ludicrous he would get away with it. Maybe that was the point. Think about that one.

But as I was saying, I remember sitting there, playing with his cards and his pennies, Grammy chastising him in the background, so incessant it was subaudible to us as we laughed and ignored her screams of complaint and abuse. He was just staring at me, staring and smiling. He kept telling me how much he missed me, how happy he was to see me, and he didn't know when he'd get another opportunity to memorize my face, savor my laugh. He was so intense about it, so sincere, regretful that he didn't get the chance to be more a part of my life. I excused myself to the bathroom, sat on the toilet with the seat down, and cried.

Hell, I'm crying now just thinking about it again. Overwhelming feelings of love mixed with the pang of loss and the knowledge that someone I love very much is suffering... it makes me leak, you know. I really did believe I was too dehydrated for all this wet to be streaming out of my eyes. See what happens when we believe?

So now my mother is doubly upset, and I'm beginning to get worried, for all of them. My father is in Korea, he offered to fly my mother back east if she decides to go soon. Pop Pop's one joy in life (aside from his grandchildren, and these are his words) is golfing. It kills me to think that in a few weeks, he may not have use of his legs, may not even have vision. God, this is depressing. Maybe I'll try to find time in my busy day at my SUCK ASS job tomorrow to write something more upbeat, something that doesn't send me into a fit of tears and emotion.

Maybe.

-Barbarella

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2007-05-19
NEW SITE!!!!

2007-05-16
Links and Update

2007-05-09
Two Links

2007-05-06
Yes, Even MORE new pictures

2007-05-06
Mizz Asshole

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Pop Pop 2001-08-20 9:58 p.m. I doubt I'll have time in the morning to update, so here is my belated (and early, if you think about it, but don't think TOO hard, you might pop a vessel in your head or something) entry. Work is going to be crazy, I know it. I thought about that when I didn't go in today, but it obviously didn't make much of a difference. We had this meeting on Friday afternoon, about the drag in the economy, that all 6 offices in the region are basically fucked unless we all go psycho, pull our hair out and work about 60 hours a week. Well, that applies to the rest of the employees. The two others that do what I do? Well, it's about playing the numbers and crossing your fucking fingers. I had two deals fall through on me Friday, right before that meeting. TWO. I haven't told them yet, I'll have to tomorrow. I'm at my wit's end. And I'm pretty fucking witty, so you can imagine how long it took me to travel all the way to the end.

But enough about work. Let's talk about the other scenes going on in Real Time right now. You already know that my mother's mother is in the hospital. The leg is infected, probably beyond repair, and they may need to amputate. We don't know yet. But she found out this morning that her father is also very ill. He's been losing his sight and now they say he has something called "flibitis" (I don't know how it's spelled). It's some kind of disease where you get blood clots in your legs, and surgery is the only way to keep it from spreading and killing you. If they operate, he will never have the use of his legs again.

Now, this upsets me on a much deeper level than my grandmother's many illnesses. Pop Pop. He's a good man. I visited him last May, grew up across the country and he only sees his four granddaughters on the rare occasion. I remember sitting at his kitchen table in Jersey, the smell of Vanilla tobacco wafting from a pipe my father bought him filling my nostrils, playing cards. He cheats, you know. Always was a sore loser, he cheats at billiards when he plays my sister Heather, who is a shark and has the awards to prove it. Somehow, Pop Pop always won. Shake his shirt, and you might just find an ace of spades sitting there. But that was the joke, he did it for fun, was so obvious about his cheating that it was ludicrous he would get away with it. Maybe that was the point. Think about that one.

But as I was saying, I remember sitting there, playing with his cards and his pennies, Grammy chastising him in the background, so incessant it was subaudible to us as we laughed and ignored her screams of complaint and abuse. He was just staring at me, staring and smiling. He kept telling me how much he missed me, how happy he was to see me, and he didn't know when he'd get another opportunity to memorize my face, savor my laugh. He was so intense about it, so sincere, regretful that he didn't get the chance to be more a part of my life. I excused myself to the bathroom, sat on the toilet with the seat down, and cried.

Hell, I'm crying now just thinking about it again. Overwhelming feelings of love mixed with the pang of loss and the knowledge that someone I love very much is suffering... it makes me leak, you know. I really did believe I was too dehydrated for all this wet to be streaming out of my eyes. See what happens when we believe?

So now my mother is doubly upset, and I'm beginning to get worried, for all of them. My father is in Korea, he offered to fly my mother back east if she decides to go soon. Pop Pop's one joy in life (aside from his grandchildren, and these are his words) is golfing. It kills me to think that in a few weeks, he may not have use of his legs, may not even have vision. God, this is depressing. Maybe I'll try to find time in my busy day at my SUCK ASS job tomorrow to write something more upbeat, something that doesn't send me into a fit of tears and emotion.

Maybe.