old man Hefner

So I visited my father today. For those of you new to my LJ, the quick version is that my father is an alcoholic (he looks disturbingly like our cousin Hugh if he grew a moustache and never showered) with gout. He's long since stopped taking medication for the open sores on his gout-ridden feet, preferring the method of "let it take care of itself."

So I walked in to my father's house to discover that he's walking around... with a plastic Safeway bag on his left foot. Probably, I'm assuming, to keep it from leaking all over the place. I know, TMI, but this is my journal. Y'see, bits of my father are soaked all over the house. You can't even imagine how it smells. But see, I'm pretty used to all this, horrid as it is. This plastic bag on his foot is BRAND NEW to me. In between the gray windbreaker and tan slacks he wears every single day without washing and the crutches he uses, the plastic bag was the last little straw.

My father is a homeless man who just happens to live in a house.

*brainboggle*

I have got to get this man a nurse or something before I leave in a year or so.