Mr. Brighteyes

My dad calls me after "24" last night:

"Didn't you watch 24?" (We rarely say "hello")
"I did."
"You didn't call." (I'd been drinking)
"What'd you think?"
"Good stuff, Kad."
"I thought so."
"Got bad news, Kad."
"Oh dear."
"I've got a fevuh. 100."
"Dear god."
"I'm gonna pop some Tylenol. Call me tomorrow morning to make sure I'm still here."
"Not funny, Dad."
"And Mr. Brown vomited."
"Great."
"You've got a lot to worry about, Kad."

I got off the phone. Started sobbing. Sat in front of my computer. Wanted to write something smart. Something that spoke to the suffering of humanity. Something that gave voice to the conflicting feelings within.

Instead, I finished a bottle of wine, ate half a bag of chocolate chips and passed out.