Sweet Dub's dad has been moved to an extremely and utterly depressing convalescent home to, I suppose, convalesce. However, he is still pretty much almost completely paralyzed (limited movement in his right arm, and he can move his head from side to side but not turn his head all the way).
Things don't look good. In an ideal situation, he would have all the top experts monitoring his care and even if he were in a home such as this, it would be sparkling clean and quiet, with a view overlooking a transquil pond with duckies, and the entire facility would smell like gingerbread.
That is SO not the case here.
In one of my not so nice moments, I said to Sweet Dub, "Well, this is really all his fault anyway."
"What do you mean?" Sweet Dub said.
"He should have known better than to get sick while he was poor and black," I said. "I mean, what was he thinking?"
Sarcasm as a coping mechanism. Sometimes the ugliness just bubbles out.
Today, my office-mate brought me some dried sage so I can go home and cleanse the BlahBlahs of all the bad juju by burning it. I am seriously going to do it.