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Expectations. We all have them. Some small enough to happen, some too big and lets us down. Expectations become routine sometimes, so routine that you can't even tell the difference. I have tons of them. My entire life is one big expectation. Not that I'm `waiting to live` or anything, but I'm always expecting something. And sometimes I'm let down, too.

Like tonight, I expected to go out [usually 'going out' for me means going to the movies, or driving around aimlessly], but Jason decided he wanted to go to the club with his friends. Teen night. I never understood clubs, probably because I can't/won't dance in public. I never really go out alone when I do happen to go out, he usually comes with me. I'd take Dylan but no matter where he is, he automatically drops asleep.

Good thing we ditched him last night when we went to see PoTC: Dead Man's Chest. I expected no one to be there since this is a pretty small town as is and it's a late night deal, but I couldn't have been more wrong. 500 seats were sold out four hours before we got there. I've never heard of that before in my life. Luckily we went in at the right moment and grabbed two tickets from the booth that two people gave back and left. I wonder why they left in the first place? Maybe they left the iron on. Good movie.

But I have to honestly say my expectations were low for Superman Returns and Routh. Turned out to be fantastic -- I was going to see it tonight since I found a free ticket to it in the season three Lois & Clark set. Which I picked up at 2:30am at Wal-Mart this morning after Pirates. I don't just like to drive around aimlessly, I also go to the most pointless places.

You know, the good guys always wanna be like Superman. Sure, he's someone to look up to, he represents al the goodness in the world. But I rather be Clark Kent. And sometimes, I remind myself of him. See, Clark's always been close to his parents, through thick and thin. Growing up in this small town, he did pretty much everything they asked. They never told him to do anything, they asked, and he did it. My parents never tell me to do anything -- they don't even need to ask since I tend to do. In the last two weeks I've put more work into the house than anyone else. My brothers are lazy, and our folks are getting old, they're not strong like they used to be anymore. So a lot of stuff really falls on me when they're at work. But I don't mind. I found that I actually like doing things around here.

When I was a kid, I saw my dad as Superman. And I still do. He's my hero. I always expected him to live forever. To outlive us all. I even wondered if he was a meta sometimes -- if he could have actually be Superman. But Superman never got sick. Not unless he's been exposed to kryptonite. My dad's kryptonite is disease. Wow, I can't even type that without breaking down.

Mom thought that his thyroids were acting up again. He's been battling thyroid cancer for the past three years. When we first noticed it, he went from 210 pounds to 115. We didn't know what was wrong with him. When we found out and he started taking the medication to deal with it, he got consistently better, but with the side-effect of flipping his shit at the smallest thing. Like when one of his employees, Allen, would do something stupid [99.9% of the time. The only reason Allen still has a job is because he's my dad's cousin], dad would go off on him for hours and fume about it even longer.

But mom noticed that he was starting to lose weight again. So she took him to the doctor the other day and the doctor said his thyroids were only slightly hyperactive, dad threw off just two pounds [I don't know how mom saw that, I didn't even notice] but his blood pressure is higher than normal. So what'd the doctor do? Prescribe him medication to lower his blood pressure.

Okay. Now, I'm no doctor or anything, but prescribing medication that helps him but slaps him with a red hot temper which I figure raises blood pressure then giving him something to lower it .. what's the point? What's next? Dad never was one for medication. It wasn't until his friend Troy died from the same disease two months after dad was diagnosed with it that he started to use whatever was prescribed. Troy used to take the same medication, and was okay for a while until he started losing weight again ..

Oh God. Don't take my father. He's only 49. He's too young. He's not ready.

Don't take my Superman away from me.