The next time the sun rises is the hop out to the Rub 'al Khali to help my father. It could conceivably be one of, if not the, last time I go to that house so far out into the badlands of eastern Colorado. Apparently, this is not going to be as much of an excavation as either of us had initially anticipated, and I'm rather fine with that. My father told me he'd pay for my fuel and make supper. Apparently, the day of the week we're doing this thing is rather hard on him, and he likes to have dinner company.
My feelings on this excursion are rather mixed. I look forward to seeing my father. It's always nice to listen to music with him and share a meal. I do not look forward to the work and the context behind it. I catch myself wondering if, even if just in metaphor, my mother's phantasm will be about, watching us get my father ready for what could be the ending, or maybe even the beginning, of his exile.
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