My birth-dad had a heart attack this weekend and not an embolism as previously thought. He’s still in critical condition even though they’ve put in a stent and put him on blood thinners, and now they’re waiting for his heart to recover before considering a bypass to deal with the artery that’s too clogged to repair. His kidneys are also nearly shot. I gave my stepmother my work number just in case and asked her to tell the doctor to notify the Red Cross in case the worst happens and I need to take emergency leave.
He’s in his mid-seventies and as much as I want him to stick around a while longer, I don’t know if that’s going to happen in his condition. But all I can do is wait and see what happens. Tonight I’m going to curl up in my Fortress of Nope with blankets and tea and comics and maybe the AL Wild Card game when it comes on because I just can’t deal with all of this right now.
Major League Baseball’s batting average hit its lowest point in over four decades this season.
Right now, the league-wide batting average is .251, according to the stat-tracking website FanGraphs. That’s the lowest average since 1972, one year before the American League introduced the designated hitter.
blue cathedral (Jennifer Higdon) - New England Conservatory Youth Philharmonic Orchestra
This is a recording of one of the pieces that I heard at the BSO yesterday. It has a certain floating, ethereal quality that I felt would fit perfectly in a Miyazaki film. The first four minutes in this clip are a spoken introduction by the conductor explaining the background of the piece; feel free to skip, but the backstory to this is kind of sweet.
DO YOU KNOW THAT KIND OF WRITER’S BLOCK WHERE YOU ALREADY HAVE A PLOT, YOU KNOW WHAT TO WRITE BUT YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO WRITE IT AND YOU JUST STARE AT THE COMPUTER SCREEN FOR HOURS UNTIL YOU FINALLY CLOSE THE DOCUMENT AND CURSE YOUR ENTIRE EXISTENCE
there’s nothing quite as beautiful as the beach at sunset
As happy as I am that the Giants are in the postseason again, I’m still not so sure what I think of this one-round, sudden death wild card bracket system. But no matter what happens, I’ve at least managed to convert one of my friends. She’s getting a Buster Posey jersey for Christmas, finances allowing. *bwahahahaha*
There are wolves, they would say. And there are stories about wolves and girls. Girls in red. All alone in the woods, about to get eaten up. Wolves and girls. Both have sharp teeth.
Yesterday sucked, but today is worse. My birth-dad is in the hospital with what looks like a pulmonary embolism and according to the doctors he would have been dead if my stepmother had brought him in any later. He’s seventy-four years old and hasn’t been taking good care of himself, and now this is happening.
Though I can’t say that I didn’t see it coming I just want to curl up in a ball and hide until this passes. But I don’t have that option, so I’m going to make myself pretty for the symphony (which will be fun, because shock is making my hands numb) and hope that beautiful music will provide some kind of shelter.