I think it's time that I admit at least to myself that I'm only happy when I'm in love with someone who isn't in love with me. Apparently I'm just not mature enough to be in a real relationship. I derive joy from the "in love" part without having to risk real commitment. That "walking on air" feeling is delightful; that "actually doing the work" part not so much. You might say it's an addiction to unrequited love. It's called having the soul of a poet, but none of the talent.
My dad is in the hospital with a hematoma on his brain. Him being 90, even a head cold is scary, but if there's anyone who could survive this and thrive, it would be him. However, it is very scary. If I miss a day or a few days of blogging, I'm sure everyone will understand.
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