heebie-geebie

It's not good. Well, we don't totally know. But if it was clearly good, we'd know. If there are cancerous cells in her trachea, then they won't operate. She'll still have chemo and radiation, to shrink everything, but she wouldn't have a shot at going into remission. They'll go back in next week to find out.

I didn't get as much information as I wanted. For the first time, last night Mom and Dad seemed like they wanted to get off the phone and not to talk about it. Mom tried to change the topic several times by requesting that I tell her something nice, instead. Each time I rummaged around and found something nice to tell her about. But I still had huge questions. Eventually Mom begged off the phone, and let Dad deal with me for a little longer.

I want them to have infinite reserves when it comes to talking to me. I want to be able to lean on them with all my weight.

Instead I called the therapist that Chaunda had directed us towards, when she was retiring. He's out of the office until Monday. I hope he's got an opening. I need help breaking this into bite-sized pieces.

Who the fuck is sad that Michael Jackson died? I mean, I'm sorry for the guy, but let's be real: he died a long time ago. Why is my page of facebook status updates full of weepy bullshit?