I spent a while thinking of ways to turn my feelings into some kind of comfy advice, but I have no interest in comfy advice.
I have no interest in turning this into some literary fiction (a presumptuous genre name if there ever was one) everything is going to be okay message.
I am an empty vessel, completely drained of all my emotional reserves.
I’m sorry, but I don’t have the energy for you. I don’t even know if anyone is listening or if I want anyone listening, but I suppose it doesn’t matter, because, today I’m only talking to myself.
The vague family problems I mentioned last week? Well, they aren’t such vague family problems. My mother has cancer.
I took her to surgery yesterday. Waited with her at the hospital for five hours. Now, I love my mother, but she drives me batshit crazy, so five hours with her freaking out about surgery was difficult to say the least.
I’m a nervous freaking wreck. I haven’t got enough information. We don’t know her prognosis. We don’t know what stage it is. We don’t even know when she’s going to see an oncologist.
The boyfriend is supportive. Friends are supportive. Work is supportive. My sister and I are finally on friendly terms again. So, all in all, I’m pretty supported. But I’m still pretty freaked out.
I don’t have the energy for the things that usually tax me. It’s going to be work and life for a little while, then work and life and writing. I’m not sure how much I’ll be around to yell about feminism and whippersnappers who don’t know two shits about writing.
But I’m sure I’ll be pissed off soon.