Fresh out of the shower in a dress to go to class yesterday I get the test results of my biopsy and they immediately scheduled me to remove the tissue this morning. As I listen a man parks in front of my driveway and simultaneously thanks me for lending rags to the contractors next door after a pipe burst.
I call Shelley sobbing and within in an hour we are drinking beer at three'o'clock on my porch trying to talk about anything but (per my request) except of course my increasingly urgent desire for a dancing cervix cartoon.
My car knock, knock, knocks when I drive. So we get on our knees and laugh because of course we would not know if anything's loose.
Sleep and up and on the way to the clinic. We're fucking hilarious in the waiting room. There is no one I'd rather go have precancerous tissue removed with than Shelley. Seriously. It was like going to camp.
The tool sounds like a vacuum cleaner and the electric burn emits a horrible smell. Yet somehow I think we will have hilarious memories of this.
Then home to pack because I'm moving tomorrow. And I do the horrible thing, I let my Mom come to help, because we're talking since last night when I called to give her the latest cervix news.
So, that was a bad idea. Live and learn though, I guess. I think we have the best intentions. We're just chemically incompatible. Or something.
Last night in this house. Really no nostalgia or saudade or sadness or anything. This place feels like a hotel. No complaints, a bit over priced. I'm ready to go home.
And the best part, I had a legitimate "health emergency" exempting me from two days of classes. Pretty cool, huh?
Yeah, I'm silly. But c'mon. I'm really fine. Look at the world. I could be an Iraqi. Or watching my house burn in California. Or on some totally lame show like Big Brother. I think I'll live.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment