Dad and life and almost 30

A long time ago, many years in fact, I suffered a deep, suffocating, all-consuming writer's block.  I wanted to write, but I couldn't.  I stared at my computer screen, mind empty of every and all ability to formulate pretty little sentences in order to "express myself."  In those days, writing was important to me...I assume because I had just graduated college with a degree in creative writing...or because I thought that's who I was, a writer...or because my dad died and I thought I was supposed to write all the time instead of keeping my feelings all bottled up.
A year and some months have passed since I wrote on this blog the last time, and I find, instead of a writer's block this go-'round, I have more of a writer's apathy.  I feel kind of "meh" about writing these days. When I start, like right now, I enjoy it reasonably well, but getting to a point when I'm willing to sit down in front of my computer, or even with a pen and paper, takes a lot of energy I find I just don't have.  Life is busy.  Time is precious, and every waking hour I possess already belongs to something else, even if that thing is the TV.  Whether it's because I know now writing is not part of my career path, or because I've grown generally apathetic about a lot things I used to love, writing just does not take precedent in my daily life.  Sometimes I still wish it did.  Sometimes, maybe right now, for instance, I think, "Hmm...I could still be a writer...and really enjoy it..."  But even those flashes of interest dwindle within seconds, like a flame without oxygen to keep it alive.  I'm just...too lazy, I guess.
But since I'm here...right now...for another few minutes, or however long it takes to dispel the so-called wind beneath my little writer's wings, I may as well say a couple of things.  I miss my dad.  Tremendously.  I both love and hate that sticky feeling in my throat and the bottom of my gut that turns on when I see his photographed face or think of his sweet voice.  I love it because I'm actually missing him...which I don't always do anymore, but I hate it because...well...it's not at all a nice feeling.  This ghost of sadness that passes through me ever-swiftly in those moments...it's not a nice ghost, not one I'd recommend, and yet, one I'd like to always keep around.  FIVE years have passed, and now I'm running head-first into my 30th year (or is it 31st?), and all I can think about is that I'll never be 20-something again...and I'm really an adult...and my dad's really still gone.  In the first few weeks after he died, and probably months, I had a recurring thought about this future...the one I'm in now.  I kept thinking, "Someday it's going to have been FIVE YEARS since my dad died...someday it's going to be ten, and twenty, and on and on."  The thought's unbearable, really.  Partly because the first of those monuments has come and gone, partly because the number just keeps on growing, and partly because I don't want to be one of those grown-ups always talking about my ole pops who died when I was practically just a kid, who I just barely remember, and whose memory keeps growing into more and more of a shadow.
This death thing is not at all graceful.  People act like it is...like the memory of a loved one is this sweet song, like a flute at a ballet, that just keeps playing on and on, and someday gently fades into the grey of some magical morning when you wake up and even though that person's still dead, you're all just fine.  I suppose maybe one day I will feel differently about the whole ordeal...I'll be peaceful and wistful and talk about my dad like I would talk about the best ice cream cone I ever had back when I was 10.  Or maybe I never will, and maybe it's because I've got a lot more "dark" in me than normal people, or maybe it's because he really was the best dad/human in the world, or maybe I'm just dramatic and selfish and a touch of crazy.
If you're thinking, "Geez, is she still on that whole dad thing?"  You ought to never read my blog again, because when I do write, once a year, or every year and a half or so, I can almost guarantee it'll be about that whole dad thing.  I knew within days after his death that I would never really be "over it," though lots of folks tried to tell me it would only be a matter of time.  I'll never really be "okay" with my dad's death and absence, but generally speaking, I am okay, of course.  I just really, truly, whole-heartedly wish you knew him like I did.