We’re in the admitting ward of St. Joe’s, waiting for my Dad’s surgeon to pass the word so that they can wheel his tired hungry ass down to the OR and get this show on the road. My father hasn’t eaten since dinner last night, and I can hear his stomach groaning and gnashing and constricting from across the room. He’s being very calm about the whole thing, but I know the section of his brain that controls his appetite has swollen to four times its normal size, and it’s releasing chemicals into his bloodstream which are making the voices tell him to EAT THE CHAIR, EAT THE CHAIR, I DON’T FUCKING CARE, JUST EAT THE CHAIR. My father going without food for 12 hours is as common as a bear using a bidet; unfortunately this misfortune has been compounded by the omittance of a remote control in our waiting room. The benefit to this, however, is that we don’t need to sit through this episode of “Charmed” at a volume setting of 96.

Update: He’s out of the surgery and recovering without a breathing tube.