I shaked up my routine a little bit, but not much. Oh, well. Maybe today will be different! Yes! It will.I talked to my mother last night. She’s doing well, but my father (estranged) isn’t as lucky. He’s had surgery on his spine and hasn’t been able to walk in years. Something happened when he got home from the first Gulf War while serving in the Air Force. Just went lame, in an instant. And he’s been in a wheelchair since the late nineties.My father and I were never really close. He was distant. He liked to a bit. He liked women a bit too much for my mother’s liking, and they divorced. He never visited and he never paid child support and I loved him, anyway. I used to be mad at him for leaving. But I “forgave” him for all of that long ago. I placed the quotes over forgave because I wonder sometimes if I did forgive him. When I heard that he was ill, I felt nothing. No concern or worry, or even a “that’s too bad.” Somewhere along the line I made a pact with myself that I wouldn’t end up like my father. He was an alcoholic. I only drank for the sybaritic pleasures. I never saw him read a book (although his album collection I coveted), but I was bookish and picked on for that. Dad was a sinner who was groomed to be a saint, and I was the reverse: a good boy who ended up a loner and a rebel. (LOL) But why wallow in lazy comparisons? I have to be somewhat like my father. I was programmed to be a copy thereof. And there are some things that I myself has fallen in my life. My two sons can’t stand me. Estranged. But it didn’t begin that way. It started lovely. But my marriage was doomed from the start and they never forgave me for that, among other things. It hurt at first, but now it’s a wound that’s been scabbed over. I don’t feel anything about it either. Maybe it’s good this way. Who knows? All I can do is be totally real. We’re all are on our own anyway.