This'll be short

Back from 4 day therapy boot camp. Raw on the inside. Like all of the skin was scraped off- exposing bare nerve endings. Eyes burning from the smoke of the forest fires, and from not sleeping. Lists of endless tasks to be accomplished running through my brain. Even now- 500+ miles away. Even now, after crisis is averted for today.

Mom and I hashing out everything that we can think of to talk about. Grandma. The past. The present. The potential future. The hazards of family. What they will do, think, say...how to prevent worst case scenarios...how to make good cookies...how to drive through Wolf Creek Canyon without causing mom to have a coronary (but she is the one who bought the car with the turbo... I'm just sayin)

Seeing my grandmother's life on the table out of context- seeing her precious things caked with dirt, and knowing that she might never see them again. Seeing the empty look in her vacant blue eyes. Seeing the opressive vulnerability. Seeing the lady in the wheelchair- "help me please" she moans to every person who enters the place. Seeing grandma in a bed. Never saw that before in my life. Finding the room filled with the smell of piss. Finding the source of the smell. Washing hands feverishly, trying to forget experiencing the smell. Trying to forget the present. Trying to wash back to the past.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Going to the fridge. Time for something to make the blood slow down in my veins. Something to shut off some of the endless lists. Something to take away the smell. And the sight. Something to soothe that sad, savage little beast that just keeps circling the pillow- trying to find the right place to lie down and rest for a while.

K is playing the guitar. He is playing an acoustic version of "Man Who Sold the World." I must go listen. Goodbye cruel world. Hello oblivion. For the brief moment. I'll climb aboard tomorrow...