There ain’t nothing like a bacon-egg-n-cheese biscuit meal from McDonalds. With coffee. I know loving it is wrong, but I don’t wanna be right. Let’s talk grease. Lovely, salty goodness. And I have to say, their coffee ain’t bad, either.
Work is, so far, pretty quiet. Of course, the Q word is not allowed to be uttered in this room. If it is, then something awful happens and it’s suddenly very Not Quiet. And if you’re the one who said it, it’s all your fault. So I’m not gonna say it. I’ll just write it. Don’t tell.
I received a call yesterday from one of Mom’s angels. Mariko says he doesn’t like fanfare, so let’s just call him J. J gave my mother information, something she’s finding very little of elsewhere lately. I couldn’t tell him enough how much we appreciated someone who took an interest in her. I think I embarrassed him a little. But really, things like that mean the world when you feel like hell and there’s little relief to be found. Mom’s still feeling poorly and tired and shaky, and now they’re second-guessing her hyper-thyroid diagnosis. IT’S SO FRUSTRATING. And that’s how *I* feel. Can’t even imagine how she feels.
Anyway. Thank you, J. Thank you, Mariko.
(I know you shouldn’t tease an angel, but did you know Mariko is scared of Santa? Go see her insane brother for the funniest proof ever (scroll down to the 20th). I’m going home to see the little mama for my weekend, and I’ll take Mariko out for coffee to make up for this. But I had to. It’s the cutest.)
P.S. It’s not quiet anymore. My bad.
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