I've generally been doing pretty well at coping with Dad's situation, especially while at work but today it all got a bit too much. I got a call first thing from our carer saying that Dad was very weak; unable to do anything really to help our carer whilst getting out of bed and dressed. I asked if I should come home but she didn't think that was necessary. I then got a call later on from my aunt who had been to visit and she was a bit more optimistic. She confirmed that he was a _bit_ weaker but still alert and interested in things and perhaps not as bad as she'd been led to believe. That was a relief but actually the combination of all these updates was that it was very hard to concentrate on anything: the hardest thing to deal with is the uncertainty of what it is I'm dealing with. Anyway just before a big meeting this afternoon I had to go and hide in the loo for a while and have a quick cry.

Crying is an amazing thing and I don't quite understands how it works. I never cry for very long and it almost immediately makes me feel better. It does purge something and seem to return me to an equilibrium. It was then good to get into this planning meeting which was quite lively and gave me something to concentrate on.

I ended up skiping improv tonight and heading back to Oxford after work for a bit of male bonding in front of the England game. Cried a few times in the car, at other times I was singing along to the music - weird. Got home to find Dad much as I left him but yes, probably a little weaker physically. But he's well enough to enjoy an England win even if he wasn't sure about my assertion that Ledley King is the new Claude Makelele. Glad I went though, Dad was chuffed to see me and anything that cheers him has got to be worth doing.