11-28-01

So I worked until almost 11pm tonight. Sheesh. There goes another fuckin' day. I want to start the story about my brother. It's my interpretation and recall of events; I'm sure his story would be different. His name was Abraham Isaac, so I think you'll agree I got the better end of the stick with David David. He's changed his name, but that comes later. Growing up, we never got along that well. He was 4 years younger, and we fought a lot. Just two boys in puberty butting heads, I guess. I had very few friends when I was young. It wasn't until High School that I had a small group of friends, but at that time my brother didn't really have any friends and tried to hang around with us. Four years before, I was in the same boat as him with no friends, but we were 16, he was 12; he just couldn't keep up with us. Of course we picked on him. Then I went off to college, and my father began to have some health problems. Or maybe it was just before I left for college, my memory is vague on that point.

My father had an embolism (spelling?), which is like an aneurysm, but instead of a blood vessel in the brain bursting it gets temporarily clogs. It happened when he was in the university bathroom (my dad was a college professor) and he hit the hard cement floor. Hospital. Going there with my brother and mom. Touch and go. He comes around, but he doesn't have memory of whom he is or what is going on, at first. The doctors asked him when he was born, and he said, "1776. No, 1976." He probably thought of 1776 because he was a history professor. Apparently he fought the doctors and had to be restrained for a while. My mom went to see him, we didn't see him until later, and at first he didn't recognize her. He said, "Wait, I know you. No. Go away, it hurts." I guess his inability to remember her was very painful. More tomorrow.