The end? I wouldn't be that sure.

Now that I'm a bit calmer I might be able to write something about yesterday evening. But even before that, one note about my father.

It looks like he's decided to get rid of all that surplus of energy he has. Working on the wet wall in my grandma's kitchen is gradually killing him (or at least he looks like that). Good news for us, anyway. In the last two days he looked at least a little like a normal human being for the first time after a very long time. We could see it in his eyes. His eyes always inform us about any mad stuff happening in his head (again). Should I therefore hope for better tomorrows? Well, after the last 11 years of my life I'm almost sure that this wasn't his last mania. And that it hasn't finished yet. And still there are things I have to deal with. I have to write about. As it will never be my past.

But now he suffers (a bit). So let him suffer. I'm not sorry for him. It looks like suffering makes you (or him) more human.