treatise on big dreams

to preface, i am totally lit right now & haven't slept more than 10 hours in aggregate over the course of the last 3 nights. butanyway
last week when my dad said they found cancer, i guess i didn't think a lot about cancer beyond what i deal with everyday in working with it in occupational health research. but im not really into a zone where i want to talk about cancer, i guess thats just the point of departure from where i've been thinking about how i've always really shit on my dad for living a really insular life and not doing anything with himself besides get old and watch tv and work. and now i'm mad he has cancer. but a few weeks ago he was watching something about yosemite and he told me about how he camped there with his cousin alice for a month in the 70s after driving cross-country for like 3 months? and this was like - following a year he spent traveling between fiji and tanzania and hawaii and living in austrailia. and like, i just feel so fucking ridiculous sitting in judgment on him when obviously i really know nothing about him at all, nor never took time to ask,
i have a lot of things i've really built up in my head to do. i wanna be some sassy tripped out hippie reading max weber in a cabin in vancouver on shrooms during the autumnal equinox listening to syd barrett records. fuck dude. why the shit not. howcome i gave up so early and sold out like a grandma and bought into the yuppie bullshit that i need a fucking condo and brunch on sundays. yo wherez my rage against the machine rcrdz at. srsly.