groceries

i am wondering through the kitchen. its 3:48 a.m. wait-- 3:38. why do i set the clocks ten minutes fast when i know?

my flirtation with hypnagogia is now a full fledged relationship.

the kitchen is littered with food, both open and packaged. leroy went shopping. macaroni and cheese (which i don't eat,) oreos, pancake syrup, chocolate syrup, chips in a bag, chips in a can, canned ham. he did make a salad for supper though. typical of his contradiction.

at once he is the most unselfish man i know, and the most selfish -- he cared for his aging, feeble dad until the end -- a 24/7 job that few people will do. in fact, i don't know of any who have, all alone. and i see a lot of sick, dying patients.

but he lives in his own world. racked with guilt and regret, finding solace in a drink. well, many drinks. and its not solace -- its familiarity. he relives every moment of his life, the good often, more often the bad i think. he is haunted by the war, haunted by my mother, haunted by himself. but he can laugh so freely, rejoices so sincerely over old football victories and frat boy pranks. he doesn't need you to participate. just listen. or pretend to listen, if its a story you have heard a million times. someone should write them down. i should. but how can i capture him, his tone, that crazy look in his eye?

he likes to take it slow. well, now he has to. his poor heart. he won't complain, but i see he is short of breath coming up the stairs. dizzy. he will only drink milk tonight.