insults
06 August 2004 at 4:45 pm

This is the last time my brother has to be tested for cancer -- well, for the cancer he's already had taken out of him. After this, we get the all-clear signal. After this, the only reason he has to go to the doctor regularly is to check up on his Synthroid (hormones in a pill) levels. So it's a very stressful time, not only because if they say Matt has cancer again, he'll refuse to have surgery. Well, no, that's the only reason it's stressful. It affects everyone and I have to be the bigger person. So I've spent the last three days at work silently crying at my desk, half-hoping someone will ask me what the fuck's wrong but, for the most part, wanting to be left to my own devices. I can handle the home life if I get it all out of my system before I get there. And so it goes.

My mom comes in on Sunday to help take care of him during the week of testing. She's kind of delusional when it comes to her kids, making things up so that our lives make sense to her, so it's always really strange when it's just the two kids and her debating what really happened at certain points in time. My brother and I were raised by lawyers and learned at an early age how to tell half-truths, how to validate anything, to speak with conviction and never doubt anything you say. We're all robots at dinners at Dad's, going through the motions, laughing, smiling, nodding, mm-hmming on cue, praying that the superficial conversation will continue to flow so that the things we all really want to say don't accidentally pop out. But with Mom, we tease, we goad, we fight, we team up against one another, we really know how to hurt each other but we know how to redeem ourselves.

My coworker gave me some generic Aleve which took the pain of this period away, but I haev a weird itchy feeling in my lower back, kind of like it's fallen asleep but not really, like it wants to be in pain but doesn't quite know how. It's ridiculously annoying and this day will never end -- this is my purgatory, forty minutes to freedom and the end is still not in sight.

I'm OVER IT.

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About me
Hi. Morgan, 27, of Santa Barbara, CA. I am a hypocritical admirer of rhetoric (when it is my own) and an observer of literary trends. A secret: I don't take anything very seriously, and that includes myself.