Not Just Your Garden-Variety Neurotic Smartass.

Putting On My Big Girl Panties.

I’m dealing with a lot right now – missing my dad horribly – I feel as if I’m breathing him in with every breath taken and breathing him out with every breath expelled. It’s hard and it hurts like hell, but thankfully I have so many other things to focus on right now that I’m sort of numb in a sense.

I saw my dad’s financial advisor this week and also a CPA to work on his taxes, which he thankfully had already started. He kept excellent records, so that wasn’t a problem – I’m just having trouble locating a lot of things like the many 1099s he should have due to being self-employed. Complicated taxes are very new to me, so my almost-two-hour appointment with the accountant was a big help.

I also need to pay property taxes on both homes and the apartments, so that involves a pretty good chunk of change. Renovations need to be done on the house. Bills from all three properties are flying in. Tenants are paying late, and all of them pay on different days throughout the month. Lawns need to be maintained. It’s a lot of responsibility, particularly for someone who can’t drive.

All this, and we’re going to be moving in a couple of months, too. Madness.

I’m considering selling the apartment building in the new year just to lessen some of the stress.

Not much else has been going on except a constant flow of paperwork and appointments – today is the eye doctor, tomorrow I am going to my dad’s to look through files and I am having a tooth pulled, every day this week I have had somewhere I’ve needed to be. Damn, damn, Damn I wish I could drive.

In good news, I have decided to take a short vacation, so I invited myself to Arizona to visit my good friend John, where we will be silly and smoke too much and generally cause a racket. I’m very excited.

Other than that, I’m just a girl who misses her dad. Nothing to see here.

Peri-Screw This.

I’m pretty sure I’m going through peri-menopause, if the fact that I can cook a steak on my forehead without having a fever tells me anything.

Fuck this crap and the horse it rode in on. It is currently 73 degrees in the town of Chi and I am sweating. My whole body aches and last week I rage-punched a wall. I’m not having period issues, since my periods stopped when I was 26 and had my tubes cut, cauterized, and shipped overseas; but this is all still supremely uncomfortable and annoying at best.

At worst, I am a fiery bitch from hell.

Why Why Why do women get the short end of the stick? Periods, painful breast growth, more damn periods, gyno exams, birth control side effects, childbirth, breastfeeding, changing crappy diapers while dealing with periods and breastfeeding, peri-menopause, and then THE CHANGE, actual menopause. It’s just not fair. I’d like to see one man deal with a heavy period while warming bottles or breastfeeding. Babies would become extinct.

I am also growing long, random hairs out of places no longer hairs should be. Hey! There’s one on my chin that grew an inch overnight! Hey! There’s a dark one coming out of a mole on my hand! Isn’t that something! The fun never ends, and neither does the plucking!

Pooping has become a whole ‘nother ballgame, too. I have always been moderately constipated with periods of severe lockdown. Now? Jesus, I need five Colace and a jackhammer just to get things moving.

I’m over it. Completely. Now I’m going to get some paper towels, mop the sweat from under my boobs, and have some coffee before I stab someone.

A Poem of Sorts.

my daddy can’t be dead

he’s taking me out to the ice cream truck

my daddy can’t be dead

he’s teaching me how to read bigger words

my daddy can’t be dead

he’s doing flips in the backyard

my daddy can’t be dead

we are listening to the Bee Gees

my daddy can’t be dead

he is laughing way too hard


my dad can’t be dead

he is teasing me about the posters on my wall

my dad can’t be dead

he is riding his unicycle around the block

my dad can’t be dead

he is cooking in his wok

my dad can’t be dead

he is feeding our tarantula crickets

my dad can’t be dead

he is laughing with my friends

my father can’t be dead

he is fixing my car

my father can’t be dead

we are going out to lunch

my father can’t be dead

he has a granddaughter

my father can’t be dead

everyone loves him

my father can’t be dead

he is still laughing because this is a prank

no, not my father

not my dad

not my daddy.

Running, Running.

I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that my healthy, happy father is gone. His birthday is next week and I feel a strong urge to shop for it.

It’s just unfathomable, and it’s so unfair.

I have tons and tons to do. I am now a landlord. I have rent to collect and things to fix. I have to open up new accounts. I have to pay bills for the house. I have to pay insurance on his vehicles. I have to look into insurance policies and investments. These are things I never really thought about before, because I thought my dad would live at least another twenty years.

It makes no sense.

Last night I rage punched a wall. It was dumb, and my hand hurts like hell, but for a moment I felt better.

I feel stressed out and tense all the time. I feel hopelessly sad and angry. We have a cat that won’t stop howling and I am terribly impatient with her. I am not doing well.

I have a virtual therapist appointment today, and I hope that it will help.

I will be at my dad’s, going through a seemingly endless array of files, looking for answers.

Wish me luck.