Death.

Me? I prefer to drink until I feel that irreversible feeling that my head is about to fall off. I dream of a day this feeling goes away.

As for my father. I hate to think this is where I get out all my demons. I always think about how he never met any of the women I've dated. For all he knew I could have grown up a fruit. Or someone of the homosexual persuasion. I'm an atheist. I believe that when someone dies, it is a tragic thing. What's worse, is it becomes more tragic to an atheist. The death of a person is also a death of a life, a legacy, a story. So my father could never see the women I've dated. He will never see the children I bear. He will never see the beginning of their stories. So I think that is tragic. What is saddest is most beautiful. I know a girl. Her father died in a hospital about a mile from here. In the waiting room, she held his glasses in her hand. She cries now because she could never give them to him. I tell her this is beautiful but she doesn't understand me. I don't even understand anymore. Maybe this life isn't beautiful after all. Maybe it just begins, and it ends. Sometimes abruptly, sometimes late. My great grandmother died in her nineties. Far after her siblings had died, I remember her saying,

Sometimes I think God has forgotten about me.