Photoshop Pic and a Surprising Outpour

I'm trying to learn more of the ins and outs of Photoshop. I'm wondering if Adobe could have possibly made Adobe more difficult to use? Anyway. My project tonight was to learn to make magical looking bubbles. Because I'm gay. And I'm supposed to just fuckin' love bubbles...especially fantasy bubbles, the kind unicorns fart out of their magical asses.

So. Here's my first attempt.

I should have went home this weekend. My grandfather isn't doing very well. Most likely he will die soon. His death has been a symbol of my release for so long, and now that it is getting close...I don't feel guilty for wanting him to die. The not feeling guilty scares me. I'm not supposed to WANT someone to die. Even someone who is the root, the rope which ties me to an enslaved innocence. His demise has been the metaphor for my wings for years. What happens when I realize there is no where to fly. (and no where to hide from bad metaphors.)

Point.

I'm wanting a last breath apology. But the idea of receiving one, or the reality of not, are equally weighted. A balancing act of his redemption and my release.

I'm fooling myself if I truly believe his burial will be my rebirth. I'll still just be damaged. Healed over, perhaps, but a knot of a scar nonetheless. How narcissistic of me to turn the end of his life, into my story? But maybe it's ok for me to want this too. His end. And my beginning. It's only right I should want release from threads tying me to his fold out couch. It's only right I should want a Phoenix of my childhood to rise from his coffin. Something good should come from all of this.

I need to sleep. I will call Mom tomorrow and see how he is doing. I'll think about a trip next weekend. Then everything will be arranged for a perfectly good Lifetime Movie. (humor is my shield.)