He says I’m a perfect square today. It took me a while, and I have the benefit of knowing what today is.

I’m six squared today.
(Dad’s an engineer, and we grew up with a lot of math in the house.)

My dad is always good for a “huh?”

… followed by a nice chuckle.

I’ve long ago run out of words. Everyone is in bed, it’s just me, and I want to feel better. A Mac keyboard has been my outlet for a long time… going back to the good old Mac Plus days after my high school graduation. Now? Nothing.

It seems like even these words have graced my screen before. Simply put, my mind is a hollow shell.

In this ongoing medical drama, I feel worst about my father. (I wrote about him once, though I never shared.) The depression, anxiety, and psychosis have been a life long horror for my mother, but I can’t help but wonder if nothing’s left at this point. On the other hand, my father’s all there… in far too many ways. Once you get beyond the bizarre nature of psychosis, in some ways its easier to see my mother like this. She’s been fighting psychological demons for most of her life. However, my father’s always been steady. He’s always been the rock. Now he’s unsettled. Now he’s shaken. Now he’s the one that doesn’t know what to do. Mind you, he’s just as sharp as he’s ever been – and that’s pretty sharp, but the situation he finds himself in is one that has few answers, and LOTS of societal indifference.

So here I am… nothing of substance to say, wanting terribly to say something, and putzing around after midnight when I should be sleeping.