You're not here, but you are.

Dad, I miss you.

I don't know why it's hitting me so hard tonight. Wait, I'm typing oncology. That might have something to do with it. These people are all survivors, Dad. The doctors are basing their treatments on the results of the studies you participated in. You made your contribution to the world of medicine and others are benefitting from it...and I guess you did, too, for a time, from others, just like you.

Thanksgiving is on its way again. Once again, we'll get together and remember so many who aren't here anymore. Your newest granddaughter hates the carseat (how did that happen in this family?), so they're not coming down, but will come in early December, because we're having Christmas early this year. Way early, but we have to accommodate everybody. We all want to be together...to ignore the big space you used to fill.

You won't be reading the gospel according to Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John. You won't be teasing us about the ornaments we've collected over the years. You won't be holding your two latest grandchildren on your lap. You will be in our thoughts nearly constantly, though. That I guarantee you.

I'm done crying, now. I walked away from this. I had to. I would've scared little Boo with my red, blotchy face when Granny came to get him at 2:00 a.m. She's a hard-working woman, Dad. She'd tickle the hell out of you with her takes on life. I think Mom put her on a prayer chain; she's guilty by association with me. Somehow, I derive pleasure from that.

Have you met all Stud's family yet? Quite a few should be there with you. I always thought it great you and your in-laws gelled to well, mostly because everyone should love those fine people. Your mom, too. I cooked with her glass 9 x 13 the other night and bawled. I wish what came out of that tasted as good as it did in the day it was utilized properly. Mom's got her hands full with your father while your sister judges her every action from the other side of the country. I know we don't believe in purgatory, but it would be nice to make an exception just for her. Your sister, I mean. Not Mom. Mom's got sainthood awaiting her, you know.

Your grape vines look like shit. I need to cut them back before they get any colder. Stud's threatening to pull them down, so I'd better get my azz in gear.

Dude passed me up in height. He's freaking 11 years old, and 5'6". I swear, they go up to bed short and come down tall. It's the magic of the upstairs, I guess. Old attics converted...

Do you hear me? I can still hear you. Sometimes, you're telling me I'm wrong, but sometimes, I hear from you what I did right, and that's what counts.

Cover letter, but no synopsis. Accountability?

Work on the blasted synopsis already, won't you? I can do a cover letter for the book, but it's not the same.

Cover letter:

Over the years, not only the religious have asked: Where have the gods gone?

Xanthe thinks she knows. In fact, she believes she's studied their handiwork for a year. Many millennium ago, someone took a sample of pure Greek society, dumped them on the planet the federation calls "Olympus," and watched how their society evolved without the influence of other cultures. The anthropological structure these gods set, and their priests' interpretation of their gods' mandates, still influences the culture up until the present day.

Olympus has no tomatoes, but they do have cinnamon, proving interaction with other ancient cultures, and Xanthe meticulously and lovingly compiles all known facts about Olympus, but the federation no longer has interest in the tiny planet, which won't be able to sustain itself in another 300 years, let alone contribute to an ever-growing interplanetary system as big as the federation. Xanthe makes preparations to leave, her heart heavy. Her life as an authority on ancient Greece greatly enhanced, plus the added bonus of watching the enchanting society and the interesting dynamics of the ruling family of Helios, is about to end. The mandate of her culture is one of strict non-intervention, and it's all over.

Where have the gods gone? Xanthe will soon find out...because they don't want her to leave.

Would you read this?

My pathetic-ness continues.

Sad things from tonight:

Ms. ========= is 85 years old...The patient is widowed for 15 years, no children. She lives alone.

I'd rather do dishes, cook all weekend, do 15 loads of laundry, see what's under the bed, watch the Colts choke, and re-do websites than work on a synopsis. The form is printed. I've re-read the novel. I've even gussied up (in my mind) the first three chapters that the publisher wants, and I won't touch it. Oh, and I took extra work. Duh. But it was oncology...

I'm planning how to pay of bills and build a solar-powered house when I win the half-million payout for Little Lotto tonight. Shoving my bill up Ameren's azz sounds so flippin' good to me right now. EDIT: We didn't win. Nobody did. Now, I can add a tornado shelter to my solar-powered home that I could build if I win the lottery tonight, which, of course, I will.

I wasted time finding out how to put an e-mail notifier on my fluffy blog and made my own blogroll for the fluffy blog. You see, I want e-mail friends. Write me, dammit. It's 2:00 a.m. and I'm lonely...hey, isn't that Matchbox-20?

We're losing psychiatrist coverage with the new insurance plan. I called another place today and asked if they give group rates. I have anger management problems all the way 'round, here. We have 5/5 people in this household that can use some help. I only see a shrink twice a year. Did I mention that we lost 15 family members, both Stud and I, since 2000? It's not going to be much longer before we lose another, then another, then another. It terrifies me that, when I go home to visit, I stop at the graveyard first, because there are more people I know there than I go to visit. My aunt asks if I stopped by to see the "family." She means did I stop by the cemetery. God, it sucks. I hate it, so I'm going to find something sad that's not to sad, now.

I like Alka-Selter. The orange flavor is really, really good. It's not quite as good as the lemon kind when they were still made with aspirin, but I've discovered I like it a lot better and it works even better than other snot-smacking agents out there. It also tickles your nose.

Okay, I've been pathetic enough for one day. I'm too tired now for the synopsis. I know, excuses, excuses...