Seventeen hundred dollar week

Yes. i’m sighing over dead dad again. click the pearls to the left and head to 704 if you want funnay. victoria brought it with her post today.

my dad lived in the same town for thirty years and now 90 percent of his things are divided between 3 storage units in that town.

while i sit in the dark and write, Prof stands by those units watching people load all of that stuff into a truck.

and that truck will bring all that stuff to my garage.

that other 10 percent? that’s the stuff that’s been stolen, that i likely will never see again. just like him. stolen from me. never to see again.

on an average day i am learning to keep house. now we will have a garage full of stuff.

memories and anger and hate and love will live in my garage. will get sorted out and sent to consignment, to sale, to the trash.

i hate that it’s coming here, but i’m longing for it as well. a bigger than life colossal mess in my garage for my bigger than life dad.

i swear when we meet in heaven i’m gonna kick his ass and THEN be so happy to see him again.

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