All the world's a stage … four.

I have been trying to make the house more zen. With candles and meditational music and shit like that. Weird but, every time I trim a wick, I feel like a Mohel.

I hate mornings. I hate getting texts in the morning in optimistic tones that use annoying words like "what's on your agenda today?"  What's on my agenda? Throwing myself off the second floor landing. Pooping. But not in that order. Or maybe in that order, depending upon the force of impact.

My father-in-law knows his time is limited. I think a lot about how that must feel. I cannot fathom it. Like a prisoner on death row, with invisible bars and RAI International for entertainment, he sits all day and waits for five hours to pass to take more meds. I asked him this morning, is there anything special you would like to do, anyone you'd like to spend time with? He said no. He just wants to die right away. I get that. I made him a pancake with chocolate chips and he liked it. It was a good moment.