*Snip*

Came home sick today after an hour trying to tough it out at the office (which is to say, closer to three hours of "toughing" really - getting to the office takes time, too).  I feel wiped out, but still have this idea in my head two sick days are reserved for life-threatening direness, and exhaustion doesn't qualify.  Work Ethic by Mom.  *Zonk*

While I was still there, I snipped the waistband of the hose I was wearing, and remembered the last time, the first time, I did that.

The day dad died my stomach was in knots - not like today's discomfort, but a serious, acute pain indeed.  It was also the first time Erick ever came to visit here, and I was trying to take him out.  Oddly enough, trying to do my own birthday.  What a bizarre thing that must have been for him; certainly, it wasn't normal for me.

I failed to feed him any sort of dinner, and he ordered a steak.  I took a bite and bit my tongue so hard it bled for a pretty long time.  Nice hole, right through it.  The steak didn't agree with me, and between that and the taste of blood (and the event of that day, intense enough in itself), I had about the worst upset stomach I can remember.  I went to the bar and got a knife, or scissors, or who knows what, and cut the waistband of my hose, in the bathroom.

The sound and sensation of a blade in nylon is very distinctive.

What a funny thing to bring me back to thoughts about losing dad.  I miss that man.

I rather miss the other one, too.  But that is significantly less painful.