i've been better and i've been worse. goddamn motherfucking universe.

but . . .

i just got a land line home phone dealie for the first time in years and caller id shows about 15 telemarketing calls a day. only one real person has my home phone number. telemarketers are going to make me hate childhood leukemia in a whole new way.

unrelated to telemarketing (goddamn motherfucking teles, i came up with this idea my own damn self!), but related to leukemia -- this seems like a good idea: national marrow donor program. you pay a couple bucks, q-tip the inside of your mouth, send the q-tip to the people and you go on this registry. not the kind of registry like babies r us or target has. more like the kind of registry where you volunteer your bone marrow to some sick someone who is a match with you. not a match as in romantic lifetime soulmate match. but a match as in, hey, my bone marrow might help you out. yay. so the first thing people say is, don't they stick a long needle into your hip and it hurts like a motherfucker? from what i've read, it ain't all that bad. maybe 4 days of pain. pain you can survive. check it out here: http://www.marrow.org/

the dishwasher is awhirl and the back door is open and the mosquitos are coming in and my spiders are happy and there is bubblewrap in my kitchen and a tickle in my throat and no end in sight for the diet caffeine free pepsi in my fridge. it's a very, very good thursday.

i'm reading a good book. well, i'm not reading it now. i can't multi-task. the book is girlfriend in a coma by douglas coupland. i sat on the picnic table outside er this afternoon, reading my book and smoking my ciggies and someone asked what i was reading and i showed them the cover of my book and she said "girlfriend in a coma" and she had a blank look on her face and she said "you should read the twilight series." i said, "is it about vampires?" knowing full well it's about vampires and she got a blank look on her face and said, "yes, it's about vampires." end of story.

Angie came to see me today. I think we've met before, but I'm not certain. She kept taking her oxygen canula off. Then she would start coughing. A thick, deep cough. "Your oxygen is off," I'd say and she'd say "Oh" and put it back in her nose. A minute later she would absentmindedly pull it away from her face. I don't know how important these things are. Who am I to judge?

She left a puddle on my floor when she stood up. Not your typical puddle. Angie has congestive heart failure and all this random fluid in her body is ending up where it shouldn't be. So much fluid that her legs are thick and heavy, and her calves ooze the stuff. Hence, the puddle on my floor. She is younger than my mother.

The other lady, I can't remember her name, was not too thrilled to see me. "Hit her," she kept saying to her daughter. I was causing her pain. "Hit her, please." "I can't hit her Mom. She's doing her job." The lady looked at me and I understood this humor. She hugged me on her way out the door. Her daughter doesn't know when she's joking.

Dog wants to play. I must oblige.