flagrant disregard

a horrible thing happened when resident doctor #4 tried to center a conversation around uncertainty. i became very uncomfortable with the combination of topic and his hit-or-miss approach and almost threw up.

right there-- in his office!

suddenly my mouth began hypersalivating, and a clicking sound stemmed from my throat as my diaphragm began to convulse. it was involuntary, and true to the character of anxiety, yet totally bizarre. resident doctor #4 was not only prepared, but found my reaction amusing while steadily (and facetiously) holding out a wastepaper basket.

well, luckily, it didn't happen. thank god for the lack of consumption! could you imagine, "i've even thrown up in front of my doctor." now i find myself experiencing, or noticing that i experience, a sickness to my stomach when confirming other people's inexperience in the subject at hand. i am embarrassed at how rude this sounds. it's as though the immediate lack of safety i feel in certain situations (or around incompetent individuals) makes me physically sick. this knowledge could be a useful tool in making connections between my relationships (with everything) and subsequent reactions.

what initially appears to be an incomprehensibly bad situation, may relate a fantastic progression. again. damn! i fear someone might accuse me of being one of those hokey people who relish looking for the bright side of life. i'm not! it just happens that all bad turns to good.

i may have just lost all of the photographs that were taken in cuba.

cuba -- remember the u.s. embargo against cuba. american travelers are in violation of the trading with the enemy act if engaged in any financial transactions with the country, and seeing as it is technically impossible to travel without breaking this law, a transaction includes all unlicensed visits. if this is true that i have lost all photos, my anxiety was low enough to *not* inspire a passionate protection of all recorded media at the minute of return.

consider:
- no longer anxiety 'disorder?'
- temporarily cured?
- finally a situation where getting better can be proven?

i think a catastrophic loss of photos smells like wellsville.
it isn't a sad feeling, either.
if true, this is incredible.

[bad---]
the computer i had been using at chuck's house finally died. it refused to raise itself from the dead long enough to transfer documents or photos. arrgghh, etc... but wait! hadn't any recent photographs from travels in cuba and central america been saved to disc at all? what about peru? certainly, from the e-mail requests received, i have yet to find time to upload and post pictures to any related web presence. i do not remember saving or transferring them by ftp-- they may all be gone.

oh, i don't want to know and wouldn't mind avoiding the truth. do i want to face that by trying to wean myself off of the protectiveness that anxiety disorder provides, i may have finally been careless? can you imagine?! would it really start with something this big? why could the losses i will experience not begin with something minor like forgetting small change for the parking meter-- not forgetting to save photographs from a major, major escapade!

[good---]
imagine the anxiety, importance, and urgency one should have in trying to 'protect' their photographs from an unlicensed trip to cuba. i am not saying the pictures or experiences captured were meaningless to me-- i'm saying that it would be so easy in my mind to make a return trip to cuba that i can't even begin to get worked up over this possible loss. obviously, i must have felt this relaxed upon returning home, or the photos would have been notably saved, defined, and stored in triplicate.

a trip to cuba. all of the related expenses and dictatorial arrangements agonized and endured. the forced independence. the potential legal struggle and fine a u.s. citizen is subject to if caught. all of these concerns stir no obsession as i am more accomplished than needing to fret over any of that. a flight to havana this weekend could be arranged if i cared enough.

this confirms i am a completely different person from what i continue to represent.

damn computer problems.
i didn't lose everything, just... everything.

at one time, i had over 100 pen pals. those who practiced this particular hobby schooled themselves in all regions of the world- not only geography but in custom and history. as passionate types go, they could easily agonize over the importance of postal instruction or the weight of a zip code. having recently met someone owning the identical name as an old correspondent, my thoughts keep returning to saved letters which were written by a teenager named kim.

kim lived in a northern u.s. state and was obsessed with some type of scouting brigade or a 'being your personal best' boys' and girls' organization. whatever the group was, it offered badge-acquiring competitions. religious retreats and summer camping opportunities were not my style, but the point of association was rooted in the variety of our acquaintance. not only did kim represent herself as the spitting image of arvid from television's "head of the class," but i found her abrasive personality to be as annoying as hell. when she decided to nickname herself africa, the collective groan was heard via stationery worldwide. africa, that which simply is large and relatively undiscovered, was really the lowest form of poetry.

as if in retaliation to kim's idiocy, our mutual pen pal named dave, who had just been accepted into harvard university, abruptly stated he would forever only answer to the name yellowstone. that temporary strain of assholeness aside, dave was a much more entertaining, and somewhat rugged, dork. we had both agreed that africa would get the nod when kim stirred her real name [kimberley with an 'e,' also the capital of the african northern cape province] into its definition.

one hundred pen pals- it was insane, yet all of us had at least that many to brag about. canadian friends, both male and female, always had the most strikingly beautiful penmanship. austrians showed the most intricate efforts in posting a letter, while the norwegians- oh norwegians would just dote endlessly on onion skin paper about natural beauty and the experience that was their country.

you know, i could never afford adequate time, let alone all of those postage stamps. if i remember correctly, kim soon changed over to signing off as kasey, and thank god, dave never did entertain that stuffy acceptance letter. as expected, the correspondence eventually became unfair due to formulation, and my foreign occupation died shortly thereafter.

note: appointment with resident doctor #4 this morning. (friday)

- he has recently unwound a lot of issues and urgency.
- thus, daily life rooted in obsession has fallen apart.
- indecision and apathy both seem appropriate right now.
consider: appears to be an obvious or expected result, yes?
translation: worsening food issues, agoraphobia, apathy as syndrome.

- resident doctor #4 isn't concealing his frantic undertones.
- hospitalization has yet to be mentioned.

i never care to acknowledge anorexia as a legitimate concern unless electrolyte imbalances are an issue or hair is shedding more than usual. hair thinning on a whole is related to cumulative years of restriction, but the daily rate of individual loss never seems relevant to anything but vinegar intake or extended water fasting. rampant denial? hardly. i will not complain about what i have chosen to do to myself, but am simultaneously trying to document it. current chaos involves the external tasks of going outside, dealing with the daylight, standing amid people in public places-- DAILY LIFE and that type of crap.

there are several library books in this house which have been overdue for longer than two months and this is true even though the nearest return depository is right down the road. legs do function and shoes are new, yet the books remain in a stack on the desk. my legs work toward something else, i think. car? yep- transportation is available, again allowing for no excuse. the library fine will not reach an obscene amount, but money isn't the issue here. consider: am i potentially restricting other patrons from reading these books-- no, no, no. they smell as though they had neither been checked out nor cracked open in over 30 years.

cue the humor: tsk, it's just a different way to go about buying books. paying the fine for the los angeles public library to replace these volumes is slightly cheaper than buying them online- and this way, there is no need to endure the shipping wait.

i write off this ('this which feels to be the beginning of a familiar agoraphobia') as a combination of laziness, ugliness, or arrogance but resident doctor #4 will hear nothing of it. well, in that case, define it. "i haven't been out to return the library books due to ________." see, laziness is the perfect definition when there are no broken limbs, empty gas tanks, or even blindness at arm's reach.

fear? there is no fear. i was a guest lecturer at a university last week. pleasant, put together, and entertaining- all eyes were on me. arriving with an apple in my hand, for use as a potential projectile, my associate looked a bit shocked as i smirked and said, "i trust you won't doze off." the response from the hall was a collective warmth. as always, i had it made. that unparalleled perfect afternoon leaves nothing to detail... so what the hell is the deal with dropping off books at the local library? somehow, i just cannot sort it out. autopilot defaults to appearance (fear of being noticed, remembered... fear of never looking as good as people will expect for me to look) but obviously, this cannot be the case.

consider: if resident doctor #4 is going to perform surgery on my subconscious, which in effect could be financially devastating, how am i to gear up in advance to take responsibility for that which i don't see falling apart? weeks passed- returning the books appeared as a topic of consideration perhaps three out of the last 70 days. i know how i am! i should have experienced the holy crap moment on the original due date- not today! not 70 days later.

for more freudian reasons yet to be revealed, this irresponsible person can find time to type out the issue yet still not RETURN THE DAMN BOOKS. this elimination of guilt and perpetual anxiety from daily life may be very expensive, especially when the episodes of decompensation have been approved. though a healthy choice, i still do not feel comfortable shifting toward ambiguity.

idealised compassion, action, condolence- all without guilt.
translation: neither wussy wallflower routine nor ice queen complex.

"you'll do things right or you'll do them elsewhere."
welcome to your own nightmare, i continue to think.

it was suggested to the physician who has been living with me that he can offer nothing more than a huge amount of undesired anxiety to my future. [his youngest son is an addict and i have decided to refuse to live under that threat.] though he, alone, will be welcomed in at any time, the offer will never include an infinite amount of complacency from me. it is time for him to leave.

an in depth physical exam.
it's been since 1997.

the young resident doing the examination that day was nervous but not as high strung as me. he did ask all of the usual questions for general practitioning but unfortunately, was not versed in eating disorders. i remember how he couldn't figure out why someone who was grossly underweight would have a blood pressure reading of 140/90 rather than a much lower reading which is common for anorexia. the resident did not inquire, thus, i didn't reveal. rule number one, the patient has all of the information and it is the physician's job to uncover and decipher. after the routine, the resident excused himself for a few minutes. i removed my shirt for a young woman to collect an ekg reading. she wasn't skilled in anything except cute shoes and her own makeup application. three failed attempts with the ekg machine- each requiring her a ten minute absence and new written authorization. people kept walking into the room only to almost immediately fluster out. warning! naked person on table. it was the ucla medical center- one would think they'd afford banality if not doors.

a female supervisor returned with the resident. phentermine? yes. history of diuretic abuse? yes. had i eaten in the prior three days? no. had i ingested dairy products in the last week? good god, no- not in the last year. i admitted to everything the supervisor asked but noticed the resident's eyes kept getting larger and larger as his body appeared to implode and collapse. the supervisor left. the resident's posture seemed to say it all- he couldn't fathom that i would be exciting my body to lose more weight than it already had. the only certainty is that he would not be having a good week.

two nervous physicians entered the examination room. one of them took out his stethoscope and proceeded to check for a pulse on the tops of my feet. the two doctors must have said more, but mainly repeated two sentences that afternoon: 1) "we'd really like to get a weight on you," and 2) "instead of returning tomorrow for more blood work, you could stay now." i remember laughing at the last statement- asking if they really thought i was that sick to need to remain hospitalized overnight. neither of them answered me, so the silence was an uncomfortable moment in time. conversation relaxed when one of the doctors realized i knew his colleagues on the other side of the country. the next odd moment- our chatting ventured toward sharing a late afternoon lunch break but the physician didn't know how to go about asking without offense and left the possibility way too easy to decline.

the night was spent at home rather than in a hospital bed, but the physicians were right to suggest staying over- i did not make the scheduled appearance at the clinic the next day. the labs remained incomplete. actually, i have never returned to the internal medicine suite at ucla.

[re: sentence #1]
i would never recite a number for a medical file and always refuse to step on unfamiliar scales. that particular morning when i was sitting in the waiting room and filling out intake forms, one of the clinic receptionists made a copy of my id. now understand that due to that action, filed somewhere in my chart was a paper showing the weight on my identification. "we'd really like to get a weight on you. we'd really like to have some idea." were these professionals too blunt to think to READ my file? the weight listed on my id was within three pounds of reality. had the physicians revealed that number and found an objection to it, they could have suggested their information was inaccurate. i figured since those physicians had my weight available to them in the file, but were blind in how to go about obtaining it, all requests for measurements needed to be invalidated. [all they had to do was open my damn chart (all of three pages) and look for it.] this wasn't me giving them a hard time- this was me making them use their education.

scroll ahead to 2006:
a physical exam approaches- or at least its consideration.
resident doctor #4 wants to read my blood work.
translation: lacks x-ray vision, judges seriousness through chemistry.
days have passed since he mentioned it- suddenly i'm interested.

fasting= essential, due to the visual, bodily prodding, etc...

what day does the fasting begin? how long?
i need an appointment prior to setting the elimination schedule.

claim loneliness?
nah, loneliest.

how many times do i need a post relating chest pain? while bored in munich last week, i went back and read older unpublished entries of this blog. the summer of 2002- some of the behaviors vaguely noted here have been lingering on for far too long. they can die now- and i have decided to do rather than attempt.

consider: detailing instances of food issues.
consider: instances would almost immediately stop, wouldn't they?

i think i am in the right frame of mind to finally go in for allergy testing. before, or, as recently as last year, eliminating entire categories of foods from my life would have been disastrous. [the eating disorder would capitalize on the avoidance and instigate difficult food ordeals.] now, allergy or simple intolerance information would be useful to know. i could avoid in an effort of health rather than restriction or destruction.

a blog reader, and probably the first to discern satire from sadness, noticed that the word body rather than the term lifebox had been typed out on one of the previous postings. he also asked for a description of what my lifebox looks like. lifebox illustrates itself as a cartoon character with a resemblance similar to that of spongebob squarepants, or of something ponderous which could be carried around, albeit awkwardly. lifebox, usually rectangular, serves as a complication under passionate times of misdirected effort.

my doctor has asked me countless times if people who read this blog could give an accurate description of my appearance. chronically misinterpreted online, in employment mostly, i don't see the need to pose the question. obviously bone thin, i am very tall with long blonde hair and have green eyes. out of the corner of your eye, you'd easily do a double take, having initially thought i was a lanky thirteen year old boy. [(sarcasm:) thank you anorexia, for deciding 'teenaged boy syndrome' should finally arrive.] if you tried to pick me from a group of people standing in a crowd, i might be reading a book, but would not automatically be the shy person. oh, who knows what else to say?

resident doctor #4 wants me to get massive amounts of physical testing done this week. blood, bone, and who knows what else? interesting information to manipulate could be revealed through these future lab results but i'm not yet excited enough to follow through with the process. who needs ammunition when you've got winter? i'm too sarcastic and depressed today to endure phones, a secretary, or worse... a secretary on the phone. ha, just to set up the appointment? yeah, leave me alone.

for lack of a decent reason, or riddle, i will still not initially set up the relationship with an unfamiliar resident internist:
- the internist will have more training than me (minus)
- i will have more education than him (plus)
- he will be slightly overweight (plus)
- i will never be (plus)
- he will be concerned about my health (minus)
- i will be just slightly older than him (minus)
- he will be surprised at hearing my age (plus)
- he will marvel at aspects of my life and experiences completely unrelated to why it is i am in his office (plus x100)

note: i should lose simply by being in his examination room.
note: it never plays out that way.

big deal. there have been emergency room caliber issues related to electrolytes. anorexia lays out invisible traps occasionally. since i walk and talk (that is, don't consider myself an authentic sick person) i take the regular route occasionally.

the issues surrounding this physical exam are: 1) how embarrassing urgent care is suddenly essential without routine eating disorder self sabotage, and 2) how many f'ing days does [lifebox] need to be starved prior to being prodded by an internist? you know, it's not about breaking numbers on the scale, rather, it's about forcing blood chemistry levels to new highs or lows. the scale under 90-some pounds? been there. now cholesterol has to be driven and albumin damn well better break X.x.

i don't do frightened very well anymore.
it's familiar, though- as recent as last month.

to the problems, i say, "so what. no one needs me alive."
a true statement- fear turns right off.

[-it is here DEPRESSION not only sits down, but removes his shoes-]

the project with resident doctor #4 ends in june. though it's only march, i'll publish the understatement of the year with the following: june is going to be sad. this is a big deal. i don't want to hurt but will blame myself for making a connection.

you said to connect- that it would be the healthy choice. i can tell you right now this may have been a terrible mistake. later, when i am sad, you'll say, "oh." eyes to the ceiling, the sentiment accentuates the eh.

disconnection, it served a purpose. why i have to cry over sound decisions on this, a rainy evening in march, seems a bit unreasonable- i mean, resident doctor #4 isn't exactly dying. finances, insurance impracticalities- he may as well be. trying to afford him in a private practice would spend the time allotted to use his influence. aside from having a few unsophisticated moments praying to the gods of superlotto, i don't know what i am going to do.

consider: "this will save your life."
consider: "you cannot have it."

[note: inpatient treatment for anorexia can easily top $3000/day.]

in a ridiculous but parallel universe last weekend, i attended an event and was only half jokingly introduced to a group of people as a reclusive billionaire. calming thought: most reclusive billionaires are sicker than i ever was.

so, with a wealth of emotions choose from, and none of them defective, i'd rather welcome frames of numbness right now. what was wrong with robotic? i don't know- it's been awhile. who knows what is to happen this summer? i like monday and friday mornings as they are. who knows if there will be a condition to manipulate? who knows if the body will even remain charged?

the retraction from resident doctor #4 has begun.
how do i stop it?
this loss can't hurt if i choose not to care.
ah, there it is!

[note here that though our project does, our relationship may not end.]

fear of change is frightening- change itself is not. the repetitive yawn- i've endured that statement enough on this blog while learning to balance the hell and trust the process.

consider: me trusting me, not me trusting you.
consider: my egg? my basket?
note: well in that case...

even though you have asked her repeatedly not to do so, your wannabe mother-in-law has just sent another $200 gift card to be redeemed at j.c.penney. yes, i know you told her the retailer lacks a presence in your immediate vicinity. i understand that even if j.c.penney did trade locally, the store would be avoided. your politeness dear, is only helping to further her plebian ways. might there be an invisible gift giving holiday here during the middle of march? might she feel the need to include something each time she sends a greeting card? or, might you be projecting a condition of misfortune and genuine poverty? nonsense! your impending hardships are standard for southern california. she knows you have strained tastes- she heard your reluctant cadence detailing a possible hardtop porsche.

the game is: since your philanthropy is notorious for getting out of hand, you are not allowed to give this gift card away. you will not sell it and post the cash to any type of utility. you are required to use the allowance exclusively on yourself toward a nonessential purchase.

good luck.

snowy altstadt- marienplatz, munich, germany

where are you? people keep asking me that question. granted, they merely want me to relate where the day was spent or wish to hear about last weekend in germany. the query just stalls conversation time and again. where are you? there is no comprehensible answer to that. "i drove to huntington beach and back twice today." is that really the response people want? is it that easy? is there no need to detail a delicious moment of recent transference? strange places must simply be that- strange places. though the recipients are a lost cause and i am indeed a very difficult person to know, i relish in that most people can never see anything but congestion.

- traveled to munich with [makeupartist friend].
- attended an exhaustingly complicated and stuffy wedding.
- his friends, not mine.
note: brand new and friendly friends are a bit uncomfortable.
consider: a german wedding in march... so when's she due?

- bavaria, cold, snow, doom... good thing for preoccupation.
- even though i've lived in germany, everyone there seemed HUGE.
note: more than usual.

- we then ditched germany and flew to britain.
note: munich, on a whole, is closed on sunday.
- the car rental counter upgraded us to a mercedes convertible.
consider: cabriolet? london? march? why?
- spent sunday shopping.
note: pringle of scotland (trench), bella freud (sweater).
note: confectionery and jam to send mommie dearest.
note: marmalade sucks, especially the british grapefruit variety.

note: two transoceanic weekends are hell on the body.

british airways:
london heathrow, uk (lhr) - los angeles intl (lax)

alaska airlines:
los angeles intl, ca (lax) - santa barbara municipal, ca (sba)

lufthansa airlines:
munich international airport, germany (muc) - london heathrow, uk (lhr)

lufthansa airlines:
los angeles intl, ca (lax) - munich international airport, germany (muc)

tschuss! ich fliege nach deutschland.

i ate in hawaii.
i didn't need to flex.
i didn't give in to an urgency.
i just did it.

death should really be talking to someone else this week.

to the urgent care center we went to document severely imbalanced electrolytes. i still don't drink enough water on flights. am i embarrassed of this topic yet? oh yeah. am i embarrassed of the relevant eating disordered thinness? no way, no how.

500 things, in part:

re: the person hired to do business chinese translations.
note: i fired him.
- combined with a bad mood, this task was rather fun.
- apologies were neither offered during nor after the fact.
[yay!]
- no apologies cancelled out feeling good about getting the job done.
note: but i won't relish in the temporary power trip, either.


re: weekend voluntary position which instantly became a paid job offer.
note: i have yet to commit and confirm.
- $50K (?) and only three or so hours on saturdays.
- plus approximately six hours of weekly independent research.
pro: i could easily do this.
pro: it would be interesting.
pro: it would teach me to be confident in my assertiveness.
pro: the position benefits my resume.
pro: i could put that salary to work in many ways.
con: the POINT was a stress free weekly connection. (place/people)
con: the POINT was to integrate with many on the same level.
con: the POINT was to specifically NOT be the focus.
note: i will be attending a wedding in europe this upcoming weekend and, in concert with my refusing to answer the phone, will therefore get to postpone the decision for a little while longer. the correct decision will be one not automatically based on the ratio of dollars to work.


re: the current trial of ssri antidepressant medication.
- took 1/4 of a pill on the first day and none since.
- it lowered my mood to consistently hover somewhere above suicidal.
- mentioned here that compulsions (tapping, etc) were unbearable.
- compulsions worsened more the days following previous descriptions.
- compulsions climaxed five days after initial ingestion.
- there was no definitive obsession attached to those compulsions.
note: just a general feeling of impending doom.
- no quality sleep: mind racing with body paralysis syndrome.
- voice of anorexia was much stronger and believable.
note: ordinarily i can laugh at its lunacy while following along.
- it still takes about four hours to achieve half of an orgasm.
note: i am still enduring (lessened) side effects now over a week later
- this medicine takes three weeks for complete elimination.
[i'd like to doubt it and say, "not possible, it's only a 1/4 of a pill!"]
resident doctor #4: "...illustrates the strength of your physical control."


re: donating three dinky vespa scooters and shipping them to cambodia.
re: or delivering them personally.
re: or keeping vespa's flagship model for myself.
- i don't want or need a vespa in southern california.
- maintaining a vespa in cambodia is impractical, too.
note: no licensed vespa vendors in south east asia.
- screw it, i'll just donate the gift certificate locally.


re: food on saturday.
- packed a plastic 'electrical hot pot' along for the trip.
note: a cheap appliance used to boil water, allowing for no excuses.
- found a single serving of fresh cut pineapple.
- steamed some broccoli at the hotel.
- paid $3.29 for a gallon of drinking water.
- paid $2.79 for a 20 ounce bottle of diet coke.
- bought a cup of coffee at a fast food counter.
- took an ativan (anti-anxiety) to secure the evening.
note: it worked extremely well to bring all intensity down.
- didn't throw up (involuntary or forced) any of the time away.
note: ordinarily end up sick from the antibiotics i take.
- it was a stress free weekend, no reason to be upset or nervous.

consider: might my father be a war criminal?
consider: historical korean civilian massacres.
consider: his disabling anxiety and depression.
consider: military atrocities.
consider: secrecy... forged dates... isolated life...

resident doctor #4 suggested monday: "...and what if he was a war hero?"

error: does not compute.
rule: worst case scenario must consistently trump everything.
reason: complete mental preparation.

supposedly, i carried heavy thoughts with me on what was to be a lackadaisical hawaiian weekend. supposedly, i was to be consumed with thoughts of my father and how he is a completely different person from what i know. supposedly, revealing this information last week has some shock value.

eh.

[well, at least i have 'major' amounts of indifference.]

should my father turn out to be a criminal, hero, or a nondescript troop serving in the korean war who lied to himself to protect his sanity- how does this effect me? it doesn't. life is not decidedly different now on this side of the country. i don't know why people expect me to feel bad 'for myself' in this scenario. i feel sad for my father that he has had to, for whatever reason, live a concealed life.

note: sure, i could 'what if' this information to death.
consider: but why? what for?

is it wrong to label a bit of happiness or relief stemming from the discovery? in seeing that my father's life 'wasn't what i had been told,' this allows for the gaps in his timeline (which i had always questioned) to be filled with a reason. the reason doesn't necessarily need to be named to tie many of those loose ends together.

"whatever it is, my father is carrying around a superlative burden. its subsequent hell continues."

this succinct statement works much better than the previous arrangement:

"my father is severely mentally ill. this is apparently due to the combination of his mother being an alcoholic and having attended a bludgeoning catholic military academy as a child. in march 2005, he began relating what it was like to be a machine gunner during the war. i guess he really did go to vietnam- none of us in the family were ever certain."

[kauai, hawaii]
...and hawaii is gorgeous as always.

always x 1000

[kauai, hawaii]
so much for the "corner shower" crappy condo- i got walked upon arrival due to an overbooking. the sister complex upgraded me to an ocean view junior suite (rather than condo, so no kitchen facilities) and comped one out of two days of valet-only parking. a perfect luxurious bath? hell, yeah.

everything always turns out perfectly.

i was seeking out records related to my father's experience in vietnam, but instead, the online search revealed he was actually seriously injured twice during the korean war. this is very interesting information, because i have been raised to believe that at the time of first injury, he would have just turned six years old. add ten years to age six- could he have served in korea at age sixteen? add twelve years to make him eighteen during his time in the war- is he really twelve years older than previously thought? perhaps, thirteen years? more?

what does the discrepancy in age protect? his marriage? i always secretly thought my parents had a union based on personal security rather than love.

consider: lie as psychology?
a conscious fracturing of declarative and procedural memory?

how is one expected to feel on the day one finds out a parent is at least ten solid years older than previously believed? any conflict is erased by assuming there was a need. there is no issue with the misinformation- instead i feel a profound loss of time.