My father wears time the same way he wears his religion: wrapped around his vocal cords prepared for any opportunity to let anyone know the truth.  We have this joke, my family and I, about how my father is the keeper of all time.  The sun does not set unless his watch says so.  The watch was a present from my mother when they had their first child, so he could keep track of how fast things would start to fly by him now. But he was always counting up to something or down to something, and you can’t rush an elephant on a tightrope.  You can’t blame him either though he used to say there’s no need for Imagination when the world is already so big.  And by the time I was old enough to refute this, he started saying things like, “Let’s start thinking about your future” “Gotta get ready for tomorrow before it’s too late.” and I never understood where the deadline was.  Never understood what the hurry was for. It always seemed such a waste of time, to keep track of the time.  Although he never missed a birthday, never missed one of those second thought holidays, never missed sunday sacrament, never missed a beautiful day.  You see we had this joke my family and I about how my father was the keeper of all time, which is why I laughed when the doctor said six months.  See this doctor obviously did not understand that the watch decides when it’s time to go and nothing can change this.  See if I set the watch two minutes, everything else would fall apart. The moon would stay right two minutes, the birds would fly south two minutes too late.  Simultaneously, death would grow behind schedule. I set his watch back seven hundred and eighty times, to make more of him.  Eleven fifteen a.m.  He’s pushing Gabby on a swingset. He is trying to teach her how to push and it’s a beautiful day.  I am not helping my father to the car again.  I am not driving him to the hospital again. And I am not watching him read his bible again and again to make more.  Three forty two p.m.  We’re talking about how old I’m getting.  He’s mentioning my new tattoo.  I notice there is something stuck in his tooth.  Goddamn.  It’s a beautiful day.  I’m not sitting beside my father’s death bed watching god commit slow murder.  I am not questioning the amount of times my father praised each day.  There is more than a enough evidence to prove god is a felon.  I gave my father one hundred and eighty days back the watch became his crucifix. Started saying things like “Dad, It’s May fourth remember?”  We are not here right now.  We’re home in our beds, and you still have six whole months left.  Goddamn.  It’s a beautiful day.

codyslipring:

spn-fandom-breathing-heavily:

westbor0baptistchurch:

“But if you forget to reblog Madame Zeroni, you and your family will be cursed for always and eternity.”

not even risking that shit

scrolled past this, re-evaluated my life, then SCROOOLLLED back up and hit the damn reblog button. 

wikatiepedia:

why are people so obsessed with English royalty when the best looking one looks like a rusty doorknob

i’m more into the prince of dubai f yeah look at him

he so pretty

sometimes he like dresses down

or poses adorably with a lion cub

but enjoy your prince foot of wales i’m going to follow prince fazza on instagram where i can watch him take selfies with people in tanzania while he does charity work and stuff

narcotic:

It’s weird how people find it relaxing to drive in the rain. You wouldn’t think driving a 1 ton metal death trap while water is falling from the sky would be relaxing but goddamn I love it.