Today almost started with a call to Poison Central Control to determine how close to death my dad was.
Not quite fully functioning at 5:30 the morning, Papa Griff took a swig of Isopropyl Alcohol instead of his Pepto Bismal. The possibility of some kind of diaster and the fact that I would have to handle it myself sent a rush of adrenaline through me. This burst of energy early in the morning set the tone for the rest of my day.
I didn’t go back to sleep like Papa did (after making himself vomit and assuring me he was okay). Instead, I laid patiently in bed waiting for the sun to peak through and listening to the birds outside my window.
It was a good way to start a day that ended with THREE quotes:
*driving back to Stone Canyon to get our leftovers*
Papa Griff, “Just run in and fucking get it.”
Me, “You don’t make sense to me sometimes.”
Papa Griff, “I don’t make sense to people usually.”