We Were So Close, There Was No Room
Previously on Poor Impulse Control: Dad got sick. Everyone dropped everything and went to Virginia. We laughed, we cried, we made ganache. Dad died on April Fool's Day and eventually we all saw the insides of our own houses again before we went back to Virginia for a memorial barbecue the day after what would have been Dad's 66th birthday. Believe it or not, I'm still writing this story, and as I do, I'll keep adding to this list. Only death is final. All else is editing.
Oh Jesus Christ, foreshadowing.
New Year's Eve
Sing out!
leftovers
It's cancer.
Life expectancy.
Mop fu.
The year of no birthdays
home from the hospital, yay!
weakness?
leaving tonight
Spaghettios!
hotel living, dying at home
the journey, the terror
Todd arrives, truths are told
praying with athiests
antics, remembered
Dad's mad magic
a prelude
be prepared!
the actual 'lude to what was pre
domestic pitcrew, gunfire
the outside world, in
TODD!
chicken feet and Shut Up Time
that chanting thing
care and manicure
phones, running on phumes
t-shirts, felines, DMV
roadblocks, slaphappy
the only truth I know is you
Daria departs, grownups arrive
I'm pretty wide
tired
Dad dies
Dad dies, I said
I come home
the undertaker
cows?
the outer world, again
poultry and legacy
cards
we don't know what it means
gluten?
that damn tree
Like this
questions and quiet
the premonition
the guitars, the poster
Love Has No Pride
a public person
Into the fray, out of the ditch
Artifacts and Anthems
Hopefully the fucking archives will be working sometime soon.
Updated 5.29.07: Siobhan and Sharkey fixed the archives. PIC still has linky problems but at least the archives are visible. And the villagers rejoiced!
Labels: Son Of Schmilsson
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