Journal, today was a long day. I woke up before four in the morning, which, even by spiritual-practice standards, is not normal. My neck was again getting stiffer, a sign of Parkinson’s Disease, the brain going on strike. Anyway, I meditated a little, then ate, then slept another hour of sleep so shallow I was watching myself sleep.
Anyway, Journal, then I took the bus, in the wrong direction. One hour and thirty minutes later (I paid for both rides) I arrived at the old people house housing my father. He was still sleeping. Knocked out on drugs. Again he woke, my back was turned to him (I was reading), by calling my name. A name I heard him call me throughout my life, the name I now use when I paint. Love keeps us coming back. Even when other than the iota of it left everything else is bad. We spent a slow five hours together. Finally one hour after I started leaving I left, but not before he asked me to be nice when I was going to be put to the test in future days.
Then, Journal, I took the bus again, and again after the second transfer I got on the bus going in a wrong direction. As soon as I started cussing my head and neck started hurting again. Then an hour later (having gotten back to where I’m staying) I got off asking the bus driver to give me a transfer ticket, which he was about to give me, then I mumbled something and he hesitated, and then a quiet argument ensued and I nagged the guy until he gave up the piece of paper I didn’t need.
