This has been a strange week. Usually, if I have a bad week it’s because of the goings-on inside my neurotic brain and has to do with things that I can control. Why aren’t you eating better? Don’t you think you should stop smoking soon, cancer boy? What does it mean to be happy? Am I happy? What the hell am I going to do about my mess of a life…blah blah blah.

Yesterday, my car got towed, and yes it was my fault. I left it in a 4 hour parking spot that expired at 4 p.m. and forgot to move the damn thing. I’ve never been towed before and half expected to break into tears. In the end, I did okay, took care of business and everything worked out, but not before $140 in fines and a really unpleasant trip to the tow lot. Christ, have you ever been to one of these places? It looked like the gas fortress in the Road Warrior except the inhabitants weren’t half as friendly. No crossbows or mohawks, though. Too bad.

Also, my father has leukemia. I’ve known this for a few months and it follows on the heels of some bizarre and horrible health issues he had last year, but I’ve been in a lot of denial and haven’t seen him as much as I should. Anyway, a few days ago, I got a packet in the mail from my stepmother telling me where to go to check my blood for a possible bone marrow transplant. While I’ve been stoic on the outside, I’m starting to see some signs that I’m falling apart a little on the inside, and this sort of pushed me over the edge. Of course I want to do anything I can to help him. I feel terrible at what he’s gone through, but it was strange to get such bad news on a post-it note.