Random Acts of Awesome

Had an interesting conversation with my mother this morning. My dad is in Florida right now, visiting his dying father and helping his brother who just had a heart attack. My mom was telling me about how my father finally got a chance to "really talk" to my grandfather, get things off his chest. Which is GREAT. My dads side of the family is like the worst stereotype of English Stiff Upper Lip-ness you can imagine. They just don't communicate emotions very well. My dad, especially. He can do it, having been forced to develop communication skills by marrying my hyper-emotional mother. But it's like pulling taffy when he does, and incredibly stressful for him. He's avoided any kind of non-practical contact with his father for a long time. He's been there for him physically, helping him out, but just has NOT been willing to talk to him about anything deep. So, his dad is dying, in hospice, and barely aware. Perfect time for my dad to get things off his chest.

Living through words is a dangerous thing. Almost as dangerous as being completely honest with yourself. I sometimes (often) think that I'm the only person in my life who's ever truly honest with me. I don't know if this is because I surround myself with people who don't know how to be honest with me, or because I just don't allow them to be. Either way, it's alienating. In the truest sense of the word. I feel like I know what people are really saying, even as the words that come out of their mouths say something different. And I don't think I'm wrong about what they're thinking and feeling, because their bodies and their eyes say something completely different from their mouths. It makes me feel like a teenager, to be so confused by conflicting signals from other human beings. Anyways. Realizing that you are full of words, and empty of deeds, is infuriating. And frightening. I feel old and useless and pathetic, all because I have no tangible e