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February 29, 2016
I am on the phone with my father. Hanging from the earpiece by my fingernails. Why don't I fall? I am in the bedroom staring out the window as he complains that they removed him from his seat in the dining room because he was being disruptive. Perhaps because the women were making too much noise. He seems to be confused as to who was doing what. I am pacing the house carrying the phone and it seems that someday I too will be shoved into a warehouse to wait for the end. He says he wants to go home.