I can see the soles of your shoes

My dad was diagnosed with cancer in 2000. Which prompted me to reel my life back from the cycle of guilt and oblivion chasing I had been embarking on. It gave me a purpose and another chance at helping someone live. Purpose. Real purpose. Purpose in life, purpose in career, purpose in love. I guess it's a trait of my core character. I have never truly been able to neatly fit myself in this world. I have a guilt ridden need to find my purpose, I need to believe that I am here, and this is there and you are over there and everything is what it should be. It always manifests itself as a need to help people live. Not that I am nice, but more I am driven by memories. I think that I can find my core being hiding behind the frogger machine in the fish and chip shop. I watch my friends, thinking they have it. A clear sense of their being. Maybe they do, maybe they don't. It's ironic though that as my father was dying, I found new life sparkling in the wells of my soul. A second chance to make amends.

There really wasn't much I could do though. Sit with him. Crush his medicine and food and inject it into his stomach. I had all this willing energy, but I couldn't do enough. I wished I could flex my muscles and punch reality. I watched him, thinking that if I made him laugh more, the disease wouldn't spread so quickly. Laughter was all I could do for him. I sat by his bedside, watching him breath, cycling through the same thoughts "I've let him down. I've let them both down. Please, you can't take both from me". Please. please. please.

I hate that I can't answer everything. Can't be there all the time. Can't do everything. Can't fix all problems. I also hate that I can't say "I've been through what has happened to you" and explain how to take all the pain away (have I told you?). But I stand muted and angry at myself. I'm sorry about your father. I'm sorry S.S. I'm sorry to my family for making a mess of things again. I'm sorry for spilling the milk. Sigh, sigh fucken sigh. I know what you're thinking. "Neurotic fuckwit". And really, that's not far from the truth. I'm really trying to explain myself, to myself.

And now I have an annoying eye lash in my eye, so I will type no more for now.

Except for Superman Returns goes for waaaaay too long. I think at one point, Lois Lane whispered into Superman's ear "When is this movie going to end?"