clickmom

signals

I drove Matt to school at 7AM and got a glimpse of the trend that signals to me ... I dunno, maybe the apocalypse, maybe the end of classic good taste, or maybe it is just the beginning of that crazy season where kids wear fleece lined boots with shorts when it's hot and pool slides with socks in the snow. But if you ask me, uggs and shorts is signal that something is amiss in the universe. Somehow that something has infiltrated the very core of my being. It is after me.

I had an appointment for the satellite tv guy to come to hook up a receiver in my parents room. My window was 8AM to noon. I couldn't do anything because I was so afraid that I would be interrupted if I started something. So I did nothing at all. For nearly 5 hours. FInally at 12:45 (I am already stressed out) the guy shows up. His van is a rickety old filthy mess and there is a second van parked on the street with a seated driver staring at our house. I am creeped out before I even open the door. Then I see the guy. He is DISGUSTING looking. He is wearing a slept in looking uniform, an ill fitting cap, he has long greasy hair in his face and he smells bad too. So he is in and out of the house for a few minutes (and I am kind of trailing him) and then he goes into my parents room and I am in the hallway watching him because I don't trust him for one second and he looks up at me and asks "Are you going to watch me the whole time?" and I answer "You know, I had something stolen from the house by a worker, so yes I am going to watch you." And he grabs his tool box, says "I can't work like this!" tosses his ladder back onto his dirt encrusted van and he drives away. He was here for exactly 15 minutes and did nothing, well nothing productive. He did manage to unscrew all the wires from my parents tv and leave them unattached.

The drones at direct tv were telling me that they will have to make another appointment when they have an opening (in 6 days or so as opposed to the ten days I waited for this guy to abandon me) and that this is the only service provider that services our area. I tell them that this is the kind of situation where the satellite provider who would like the extra money I was willing to pay for the additional service I was trying to have installed bends over backwards to assist the customer that just wasted her entire day waiting for a useless stinky guy with an attitude problem. I think having only one service provider is bullshit since every other person that has come through here has been nice and respectable. Where did this creep come from? Now I am way too pissed. Now I have been on the phone with direct tv for 35 minutes trying to file a complaint and also reschedule someone different to service us and I got disconnected. I am not calling back.

Monopolies suck.

Then I had no time at all before I had to pick up the kids. Again I drive by a high school girl signaling to me. I feared my bad luck would continue.

I was in the car and snacking on cashews. All of a sudden there was a horrid kind of crunching in my mouth. When you crunch tooth enamel it's like nothing you have ever crunched. When it is your top front tooth you are crunching, well, that's a new dimension in personal terror. (Cue the banjos folks! My teeth are crumbling again!)

Me and my front center broken snaggle tooth called the dentist and made an appointment for bright and early the next day because me and my snaggle tooth were already sitting in the elementary school parking lot and the dentist leaves at 3 on Tuesdays. Besides, me and my snaggle tooth had a game to photograph after we dropped (or rather dragged kicking and screaming) Evan off at religious school. So, poor Evan, drags his sorry self into religious school and I high tail it to the school where my sports editor has told me the game will be. I have never been tot his school and it looks suspiciously quiet. I roll down the window and ask a kid if he knows where the soccer game is and he tells me, quite assuredly that the soccer team has an away game this day. In a panic, I phone home and have Matt search my emails for the correct one from my sports editor. Matts read it to me and I am where I was supposed to be. The team that my sports editor tells me is the other team is close enough that I can make it in time. Just to be safe, I roll down my window once again (Hey- remember when we really did have to roll the windows down and not just press a button?) and ask a guy who appears to be a teacher if he knows where the soccer team is. He tells me they are playing an away game at a different school than the one that my editor said they were playing against at home. Now, I have enough time to make it to either of the other schools and catch enough of the game, but not both schools. I start driving and trying to decide if I am going to go to the school that the teacher said or the one that my editor thought they were playing. I decide to go with the teachers choice figuring my editor was already wrong about where the game was being played and he was likely wrong about who with as well. I go to the teachers recommendation and find the two teams playing their hearts out. Yay.

I begin seeing the signal every where there are high school aged girls. I am at the game but distracted by a signal in the distance when I hear the ref blow his whistle. He blows and blows. I turn away from the signal and towards the whistling ref to see that he has stopped play on the far end of the soccer field (100 full yards away from me) because he is trying to whistle signal to me to back away from the field. I step back. He whistles and waves. Every step back I take he toots out another whistle and waves me back even farther. How fun! I love the refs oh yes I do!

I get back to religious school just in time to pick up Ev and when he gets in the car he looks at me and says "No Starbucks? I thought we had a thing!" because last week I bribed him with the bucks to let me drop him off 10 minutes early so I could photograph something else. He gives me the big puppy dog eyes and pouty face. So I took him to the bucks.

Today I think I have it all under control. I have a 10 o'clock with the dentist so I am going to go to the gym first thing, shower there, and arrive at the dentist snaggle toothed but smelling fresh and fine.

I am on the elipical, and sometimes (all the time) when I think no one can hear me because they are all wearing headphones and staring at their personal television screens I um kind of talk to the machine. But only during the really tough parts when the resistance shoots up to like 18 and I have to psych the machine out and let it know that I am not a quitter. So, today I was doing a tougher than usual program and I had a lot to say to the eliptical and I didn't know that the lady next to me could hear me despite her big fuzzy headphone ear pads and she leaned towards me and asked me "Are you okay? Do you need help?" and when I tried to laugh it off by saying that I was talking to the machine because I was on a climb and all she gave me the (you are a psycho) look.

After a good shower, I headed for my locker to get dressed and blow out my hair. The lone woman in the dressing room breezed past me towards the showers and I was happy to be the only one. As I was shaking out my shirt and jeans praying that my MIA bra would magically appear the lady came right back mumbling that she had just seen the time and didn't have time to shower. I told her that I was having one of those days too and that I had forgotten my clean bra. She looked right through me (because fat people have the secret ability to be absolutely invisible) and said "At least it wasn't your underwear."

uh

Well, had I forgotten my underwear I would not have seen a problem with that (other than potentially zipping up some pubes) because I would have gone without. (And then Kitten would have been all pleased that I didn't have panty lines because she hates panty lines and I have 'em every single day) But I haven't gone without a bra since 5th grade and I saw that picture from 5th grade and it may not have been the best choice even then. So I say to the lady "I don't ever forgo the bra." and she says "Well, it is a look!" and in my head I think, "Yeah the national geographic 3rd world living beyond all civilization look" but I recognize that I am talking to a completely flat chested woman and I clutch my gym bag to my sagging breasts and head out the door with dripping wet hair to run home to grab my bra which is exactly where I left it right next to the spot where I had packed the incomplete gym bag 4 hours earlier.

My tooth got fixed though!

deal

Still feeling down about regaining all the weight and the scales are still on the way up. I needed some comfort the one no fail way I know how to get it. Through the mouth. I stopped by the bucks today for a warm toasty caffeinated beverage and I ordered my beverage to a never been seen by me before pretty little ray of sunshine behind the counter. When the ray turned around only then did my eyes drop below her sweet and smiling face and OMG the pretty little ray of sunshine was as emaciated as can be. My first thought was "She must be in pain" followed by "How does she stand?" and then a million other thoughts went through my head like "What is missing in her life?" or "How hard that must be for her poor little heart." and then I realized that she and I across the counter from each other must have been such an odd sight. Pretty little thing could likely double her weight, while pretty big thing, me, could easily halve her weight. Then I realized through my stun as I wrapped my meaty paws around my warm and toasty caffeinated beverage that any other anyone in that particular Stepford laden bucks might just be looking at me and asking herself all the exact same questions that I was thinking in my own head about. Which made me feel so connected to the little ray of sunshine and I wanted to reach over the counter, lift all 60 pounds of her up and cradle that little ray of sunshine in my arms and fold her up into my lap and just hold her there until it all stopped hurting us both so much.

heavy words heavy silence

I took mom for her chemo treatment on Wednesday. Dad isn't feeling so good from his own chemo. And he didn't say this, but the last time mom got chemo it was all so painful for mom that dad was fazed. Very fazed. We had the commute from hell. Bad way to start the day. Mom feels guilty that I am taking care of her. Mom went right in for the pre-chemo blood tests. Then we sat and sat. We got anxious. The chemo treatments have not been going well. There is much pain and it takes the entire day. Mom's doctor was late. We waited for what seemed like forever. We tried to eat. No good. We tried to shop the gift shop, no good. Nowhere to go.

We went back up stairs and sat down in the internal waiting room. It's a smaller cozier and quieter waiting room where usually the people who are bringing their friends and family are waiting for their charges to return from their therapies. A lady who had just brought her husband in to see the doctor was sitting there. Her eyes were red rimmed, she looked like she needed a good night's sleep. The lady was looking around room. I imagine she was sizing up us others and trying to decide if we were patients or care givers. I assume she thought we were all care givers, my mom happens to be looking great these days, and for some reason, unlike a regular New Yorker who arrives at the hospital in something comfortable like sweats, mom puts on her finest new fall wardrobe. So the lady looks around, thinks (I am assuming) we are all not cancer patients and begins to cry. Then she starts asking every one how they are dealing with "this" and she starts to say how badly her husband is doing. He is wheelchair bound, unable to control his bodily functions, she can't take care of him anymore. Mom and I are trapped in our seats. I take her hand. The talking lady goes on and on. Another lady is offering the talking lady comfort and suggestions. Mom and I are hearing everything. We can't get up and run. We are both paralyzed. I don't know if mom is hearing this and thinking that it is where she is going or if she is hearing this and imagining that dad will soon be at this stage. But I can see the look on mom's face and I know that, like me, she has not been thinking this far ahead. Then the nurse comes in and calls mom's name. I spring up from the chair, grab mom's arm and hustle her towards the exam room and away from the talking lady. We are shell shocked. We look at each other. No one says a word.

the hurry

Today I ...

woke up three kids, made sure they were properly dressed, fed them some breakfast, packed nutritious lunches and snacks, dropped two of them off at their respective schools, taught an art lesson to a bunch of first graders, headed towards the posh gym, busted my butt on the eliptical for 45 minutes, rushed home, stroked my nauseous mother's brow, showered, went to the chiropractor for the still problematic shoulder/neck, flew through Whole Foods, dashed home, attempted to hydrate my nauseous mother, put groceries away, shoveled in some lunch for me, served dad his lunch, hustled back to the elementary school, taught another art lesson to another group of first graders, zipped to the high school, picked up Matt and his buddy, brought them to the comic book store, tore over to Evan's school, picked up Evan and his buddy, dropped Matt and his buddy off at the buddy's house, brought Evan and his buddy home, got a 40 minute break, drove over to Josh's school to get him from the after school enrichment program, came home, started dinner, fed the family in two shifts, helped Josh with his homework, and read Josh the two torturously boring library books he keeps taking out in response to there being no Lego Star Wars books in the school library (why?).

Then I was helping Evan with some of his homework after all that other stuff when I had to go to the bathroom. I told Evan to start doing some different work while I took the math sheet that had him stumped into the bathroom with me because

1. the bathroom is where this mom goes to hide
2. I can usually sneak an extra minute in for fun stuff like magazine reading and
3. the overwhelming volume of the television is slightly muffled while in there with the door shut and the water running so I thought maybe I could concentrate better.

During my extra minute in the potty I focused on Evan's math problem and figured out where he had gone wrong.

When I emerged and presented Evan with my wisdomful (because I am smarter than a fifth grader) 42 year old mathematical wisdom. He was astounded. He said "You figured that out while in the bathroom?" I nonchalantly answered " yes " (because the porcelain gods, they help me to think) and he who has absolutely no idea what I do around here at all got saucer eyed and said "Whoa, that is amazing multi-tasking."

jail bird daddy

We had a great time at dinner tonight. Dad started to loosen up and he told the kids and me about the 3 times in life he was in jail. I jokingly whispered to Matt that my dad must have scared the horse pulling the cart, and lo and behold the first time dad went to jail he was an 8 year old kid running wild on the streets of Brooklyn and he and his little boy gang friends lit a fire under Joe the fruit guy's fruit filled wagon. Matt and I rolled on the floor laughing over that one. Dad swore that they didn't hurt the horse.

The second time dad was in jail he was away at summer camp. He and the other boys were out hiking and came to a lake where they decided to cool off and take a swim. The boys got naked, tossed their clothes into the bushes and dived right into the cool invigorating waters, ignoring the houses lining the lakeside. Before the boys knew it there were arms pointing out of those house's windows towards the young buck naked swimmers and the shore line was littered with police men, guns drawn, ready to haul the boys down to the precinct.

The third time my dad was in jail was when I was when little sis and were very young. Dad's first wife, who was crazy, called the police and made up some story about dad stealing money from her. Dad ignored the summons when it came in the mail, knowing what a ludicrous story the first wife had made up, when one day not long after the ignored summons had arrived , some police men were waiting for him when he left the apartment building to go to work. They escorted him to jail. Dad ended up in jail for a day and half. Mom was beside herself with worry. She cried the whole night and didn't sleep a wink. The next day she put on a brave face (trying to shield lil sis and I from the shame of having an inmate father) until she got lil sis and me to school, and then she continued the agonizing day long wait for word of dad's fate. Dad on the other hand was given a private cell, played in a thrilling prisoner basketball game, had a good night's sleep. The next morning he was befriended by the prison rabbi, who told dad that jail was no place for a nice jewish boy like him and let dad spend the whole day in his study reading interesting books until the police realized that dad was innocent, apologized and let him go. Dad came home pretty disappointed that night, they let him go right before another prison basketball game.

We'll have to have these little sharing sessions more often.

Oh grandma!

I stopped in to see grandma this afternoon. We had a slightly altered version of the very same exact conversation we have every other time I show up without any one else with me.

Me: Hi Grandma! How are you?
Grandma: Hi dear. I don’t feel well. Something is wrong. But never mind me. Where are the kids?
Me: At school.
Grandma: School? They have school today?
Me: Yes, today is Monday so they are at school.
Grandma: Where are the kids?
Me: At school grandma, it’s Monday and they had to go to school.
Grandma: It’s Monday?!?
Me: All day.
Grandma: Where is your “boyfriend”? (grandma cute for “I can’t remember the name of that guy you are married to”)
Me: He’s at work.
Grandma: Work?!?!
Me: Yes, it’s Monday and he had to go to work today.
Grandma: Your “boyfriend” is at work?
Me: yes.
Grandma: Today?
Me: Yes, it’s Monday so it’s a work day.
Grandma: I think you should get another boyfriend to keep you company (wink wink) when this one is working. He works too much.

how Matt missed 6th grade

The whole story kind of starts with 3rd grade when Matt, who had always been adored by his teachers in previous years, was completely victimized by this horrible witch of a teacher who HATED him. Matt couldn't do anything right for the witch. She bitched so much about the way he sat in his chair that Matt, out of confusion and desperation tried sitting on the floor. She bitched and ridiculed him more. If he read ahead in the reading book because he loved to read and enjoyed the book it was the wrong thing to do. If he went an extra mile and did some extra spelling word homework it went ignored. She interpreted every single word out of his mouth and movement he made as defiant. It was horrible. By the time school was half over Matt was clearly in psychological trouble. By the time March rolled around I had Matt in therapy. The therapist tried to talk to the teacher, no impact. In desperation to salvage my child I had to turn against the teacher. I gave Matt carte blanche to be fresh, talk back and defend himself against her in any way he needed to. I told Matt I wanted to be called into the principal's office. I had something to say. I began avoiding the teacher after school, so as not to hear her false accusations, and referring to her as "the bitch". This helped Matt limp through June battered and beaten. He was not the child I had raised for 9 years. He was a mess. Not knowing what to do I decided to have him evaluated at the local children's hospital. I suspected he was depressed and noticed that for the first time ever he was struggling in math when he was genuinely trying very hard. By the time the evaluation was over Matt had gone off to have a fabulous and rewarding experience at sleep away camp, and returned still gun shy but a tiny bit less depressed. Even so the people who evaluated him urged me to put Matt on anti-depressants and also diagnosed him with Asperger's Syndrome.

I nixed the idea of anti-depressants from the start, knowing that his depression, while very real, was situational, and embraced the Asperger diagnosis. I felt like I could now raise up that bundle of papers and make teachers be kind to Matt. Luckily I didn't have much fighting to do. Matt's 4th grade teacher was that awesome teacher who after hearing about the horrible year before, took it upon herself to help him heal. The awesome teacher's enthusiasm for Matt was contagious and before I knew it the rest of the school was all right there behind him rallying for his cause. Matt's 5th grade teacher was just the gentle kind of caring teacher he needed too. It was a fabulous two years. At the end of the two years I felt like my real kid was well on his way back to me. Matt was no longer depressed, just maybe still overly cautious, but he was back on the right track.

During the spring meeting where we discuss the "plan" for the next year I expressed concern to the "team" about the transition to Middle School for Matt. I couldn't fathom how he was going to run to and from 9 different classes a day. Also, I had been in the middle school during a period change once and it was a disaster. The school was functioning at double it's capacity and the halls were bottle necked, noisy, hot and crazy. This is not a recipe for success with a kid who has Asperger's. I wondered if Matt could have the same schedule as a friend so that the friend would be able to distract him from the buzz of the hallways and help him get from room to room. The answer was positive and Matt's 5th grade teacher suggested a name which the middle school counselor noted on her form.

Then in August the middle school schedules arrive and I phoned the friend's mother to discover that Matt and the friend did not have a single class in common. They did not even have a single teacher in common. I run over to the middle school counselor and at first she doesn't even remember this deal, then she tells me (for the first time) that she can't control what schedule the "regular ed" kids get. I'm crushed. Matt and I walk the halls figuring out his future classrooms and on the first day of school I drop him off like everything is going to be fine. I have my doubts, but am silently hoping. At the end of the first day Matt hops in the car and I ask how it went. He seems happy and he tells me that he really liked his teachers. He thinks they are nice. I don't want to plant a bad thought in his mind so I say nothing.

When I woke Matt up for the second day of school he cried and begged me not to make him go back there. He tells me he can't take all the class changing and the bells and the crowds. I tell him he has to give it a few days, he'll get used to it. He goes. He isn't happy. He cries again on the third morning and I make him go again. I call the school in a panic knowing that Matt does not manipulate and see that this is not going to get better by ignoring it. We have an emergency meeting. The school has nothing to offer except putting Matt in the classroom for kids with learning disabilities. I say he doesn't have a learning disability and they tell me that with such a small class the teacher can individuate. I know they are lying and was feeling pressured so I tell them I will think it through over the weekend and call before Monday with my answer. Matt cries all weekend. He doesn't want to leave his room and I hear him crying in the middle of night. I call Sunday and leave voice mails for the assistant principal and the the counselor that I do not want Matt in the learning disabled class. I want another meeting. They find him Monday morning and give him the new schedule anyway. Matt goes to the special class or two days and then the kids have off for the Jewish Holidays. Matt cries the whole time, he can barely eat and he looks horrible. I think he might be having an 11 year old's nervous breakdown and I can not put him through that. I had just gotten my baby back and I wasn't going to allow him to be crushed again. So I called the school and asked if there was anything else they had to offer. They said they did not. I bring Matt in to see the social worker and see the terror in his eyes. He is petrified of being caught in the hallway during a class change. The social worker makes him cry. She doesn't know how to talk to him. I said I could not send my kid back into that environment because as his mother his emotional health was my priority. So I stopped sending him to school. Matt had attended 6 days of sixth grade.

On the last day he had gone to school he had brought all his important text books home with him, so each morning after I dropped Evan off at 2nd grade and Josh off at preschool I'd come home and hit the books with Matt. I hadn't planned on home schooling him, didn't really know where I was going with it, and the husband was vehemently opposed to home schooling. I didn't know what else to do. All the private schools are full in September. Matt didn't really fit in with the jock-type prep schools around here or the schools for kids with learning disabilities. There was one school which seemed to fit the bill, but it only went to 5th grade. Eventually the husband found a lawyer who said I had to stop teaching Matt because our argument was that the school was the party responsible for teaching him. For a while the school sent a tutor to the house. She was weird and talked to Matt like she was talking to a whole room full of kids, even going as far as standing and posturing in front of an imaginary black board. She quit after a couple of months. I think it was because Matt wasn't ever happy to see her.

After that teacher quit no one ever called to set anything else up and Matt just hung out with me. I'd take him with me on errands and we would have a blast together. There were so many times that I would be laughing so hard at something Matt said that I had to pull off the road because I couldn't see. I felt guilty enjoying his company so much. Having Matt around all day was fun for me. Not knowing what we were going to do about his education was stressful. But he was continuing to emerge from his depression and I didn't want to do anything to jeopardize this process. I watched him blossom that year. Without the stress of school on his shoulders Matt was able to complete the circle and by the time spring rolled around he had turned into this confident happy young man. I liked what was happening with Matt. It was worth the strain of not knowing what the future held and the guilt of not teaching him myself.

The summer following Matt's year off from school our lawyer met an educational consultant who had worked wonders for another kid he knew who had similar issues to Matt's. With this guy's help Matt transitioned into 7th grade (after we refused to hold him over and he had to take the IQ test that the less than cooperative principal required him to do) slowly, starting at only 3 classes a day and working his way up to 7 of the 9 periods. (Matt didn't take gym or a foreign language) He went 7 periods for all of 8th grade (same deal with gym and language) and this year Matt is going for a full day at high school.

And that is the story of how Matt got to take 6th grade off from school.

what I need

Where I could be right now is my 25th High School reunion. Where I am right now is in front of my computer preparing this post. “Clickmom!” one might admonish, “You should have gone to the reunion!” “But,” but I would sputter right back at you, “I have too much on my plate! And mom and dad both have cancer! And grandma doesn’t feel well for like a whole a week now and I don’t think she is faking! And I am so tired all of the time! And I can barely smile these days! And I’m growing my hair out for that wig for cancer kids thing! And there is that very large issue of the very large amount of weight I have regained!” and that last lame excuse is pretty much the nail in the coffin for my lack of reunion enthusiasm. I mean, it’s great to see old friends when the weight is on the way down and I am feeling fabulous, but when the weight is reaching new never before seen heights, well, I just feel as attractive as Jabba the Hut these days and I don’t want to share that vibe with people who might remember me as simply a little chubby (or maybe zoftig if they had a crush on me or something) and definitely in better spirits then the ones I exude these days. Besides, I told myself that I would go to the reunion if my 3 favorite girlfriends were going to be there and I emailed all of them and they all weren’t going to go (but all wanted to get together for lunch one day). I guess I hung out with a bunch of other non-reunion types.

Instead of drinking way too much with people that I barely remember tonight I enjoyed a Bill Cosby stand up routine special with my whole family. Then I laughed with them some more during dinner when the conversation card of the day asked the best and worst thing about your place in the birth order, and we all turned to Evan who thinks being the middle child is punishment every second of his life. We watched him squirm, gently teased him and had a well deserved good laugh calling both Evan and me out about our more endearing qualities which make us such special people. Then Josh played piano for us all and Evan and I practiced on our guitars before we did some sit ups on exercise balls (I kicked his butt) and now I am blogging. And I am very happy with my decision not to go.

In 15 more minutes I’ll be warm and snuggly in my bed and no one who knew me 25 years ago will know that right now I am the saddest person who graduated in 1982 who can still appreciate every sweet second with the next generation and every minute I have left with the generation that came before me. And that was really what I needed to do tonight.

I'm all like a margarine commercial over high school

The one "I am skipping through a field of flowers with the sun on my back and my long gauzy clothes blowing in the gentle breeze" moment of my recent life is how wonderfully Matt has adopted to High School. After the middle school that didn't exist for 6th grade ordeal (the one where Matt didn't attend school for a year and I wasn't allowed to try to home school him because we had hired a lawyer so he just kind of hung out with me which was really fun but caused me much stress anxiety ordeal) I was holding my breath to see how this transition would go. And it was all so... easy. I am still afraid to say anything, but I AM SO FREAKING HAPPY ABOUT HIGH SCHOOL I CAN NOT EVEN TELL YOU.

Tonight was the night when the parents go to the school to listen to speedy 15 minute presentations by each of our kids teachers. I loved them all. Seriously, I want to take 9th grade science. I totally want to take science. I just might be jealous. Cause Matt gets to take science. It's gonna be awesome. I might have a girl crush on Matt's art teacher. And the books they are going to read for English... well, I am reading them too. And Matt better be prepared to come home and discuss. I want discussion! I could really use the social studies, it was never my strong subject but I'll pass on the math, because while it all looks totally familiar, and I know that I aced that test in 1978, it is most definitely the kind of math that most of the population is not going to need ever, in their whole lives, and I know that for a "I have made it to 42 years and haven't needed it yet" fact.

Oh my goodness, I recognize that the time is here. My kid is about to be way smarter than me. I figure I'll have the advantage for maybe another week or two, and then forget about it. But I am just going to remember that Matt goes to school early every day, even when he has study hall first period, so I think I'll go to bed with that thought loop in my mind and maybe not the weight of the world on my shoulders tonight.

Also, a special "Hello" to those fellow Stepford residents who took me surprise and delurked in person tonight. That look on my face was complete shock, like when you see your favorite bank teller all dressed up sexy on a date in a bar and for a minute or two your two separate worlds spin off axis until... you know something like that.

dad might die first

Dad's diagnosis is bad. The cancer is all over him. He is starting some kind of oral chemo and steroid regime that has a 50% chance of working. If it doesn't work he'll need regular old chemo. If it comes to that he has maybe 2 years.

Numb.