* I may not have finished watching Damo
, but parts of its soundtrack (and the Tearliner contributions to Coffee Prince
's OST, esp. "Go Go Chan
") have been great for lulling an overextended child to sleep. In infancy, the title track in its oboe-solo iteration; now, as long as I don't use it often, the semi-power ballad "Bi ga
." heh. If the fingers slip in choosing a track, just catch "Fate
" before it gets going---not so restful.
* A week after Irma had passed him, my father declared that all was well except for how much the media had lied to everyone to let supermarkets drive prices up for water and supplies. I informed him that he was lucky and changed the subject. His electrical power is still out, but somehow that has nothing to do with whether the radio's weather announcer lied.
#notalloctogenarians but they sure sound like five-year-olds sometimes. No doubt the contrast would be less inviting if I weren't able to compare numerous six- and seven-year-olds of my acquaintance favorably to my father, eh? I'm aware that sometimes people just never "grow up." He did; I remember. It's a blessing that he doesn't remember what he's lost and losing---that would be harder all around.
Meanwhile, the same phone chat made it clear that he's become able to sympathize with his incomplete picture of my health issues/concerns because partner has talked with him about them. Doesn't matter what I say. But I understand a bit better now how he failed to comprehend my mother's illness with Bell's palsy for two years, longer than most people suffer it, since she had no rest or help. Then they divorced, which should've happened sooner, and her life improved. That part is years and years ago, during my early twenties.
Crawl back under your rock of self-estrangement
* It is difficult to use the internet to research specific remedies and palliative measures (for me) without swimming forever amidst groundless hearsay. Bring back 1997. (Not really.)