I've been avoiding writing this:

I have a habit of keeping alot of personal things away from my blog (-from most people, actually); but it is my blog and I am drawn to it to document some recent events.

My father has been in and out of the hospital for the last 6 months, and has now been in the hospital for the last 35 days. He has been a diabetic since the age of 24. Last June, dad had lost all but 10% kidney function, and since then, has been on dialysis three days per week (four hour treatments). Both kidneys are affected, and he does not qualify for a transplant. Last week, he had to have two toes amputated, and an artery transplant to help with leg circulation (the second such procedure in the past month, along with a couple stents). Dad is feeling really beat up, and weak. The duration of these things has left me numb.

In October, I bought a fixer-upper condo in a mid-century high-rise in downtown Phoenix. The plan was to simplify my life by selling my home in Scottsdale, and use the equity to lower my mortgage. I can also walk to work, rather than drive an hour and a half each day, and the light rail system that is under construction will eventually stop right in front of the building. I'm actually trying to decrease the size of my carbon footprint. Well, it's been over five months, and my house hasn't sold yet, and I'm slowly being drained of my equity- It may end up costing me more to live in the condo, than in my house (and I love my house- what have I done??).

Six days before Christmas, while removing the old dishwasher in the condo, the hot water supply valve assembly snapped off, and flooded my unit along with the one across the hall, and down six floors below me. It took nearly two hours to get the water shut off. By then, the damage was done, and by some fluke of "more" bad luck, I was not insured for such an episode. I ended up having to pay $13,000 (which I really don't have) in repairs to about seven units-- and I haven't even moved in yet!

I find that I have not been writing, or reading very much because I seem to get tunnel vision when I have situations like these going on; I have to constantly keep the house clean because it is for sale, so alot of my books, and notes are packed away, and I feel very much like a stranger in my own home. I bought a bunch of new plants and flowers to "brighten" up the house, and now I've grown attached to them, and I won't be able to take them with me when I go; my sixth season grape vines are coming in gloriously with huge leaves (I know there's going to be a load of Thompsons and Perlettes this summer).

Finally, my health hasn't been great (and I have always been healthy as an ox). In the last three months, I have had two bouts of bronchitis, along with the obligatory antibiotics, my voice has been hoarse for over a month now (not soar; I am supposed to get my throat checked for polyps), and just this week I became so violently ill (we're talking vomiting 8-10 times like a pumpjack) that I thought I must have gotten food poisoning. The Doctor has me scheduled for tests on my liver and spleen (apparently, my liver was tender when he examined me).

What I need to realize is that writing is therapy...