people really are nosy

I was having a conversation today with one of my co-workers on her lunch break.

Sure. We're getting to know each other (not that I necessarily want to/care to get to know anyone). So it's okay if you ask me about my mom. Or if you want to know where my dad is from, or whether I have any siblings.

It's not any of your business whether I'm single or not.

Okay, you might want to know what I studied in college. I'm used to getting that question.

It's NOT any of your business what my grades were. Are you hiring me? Are you evaluating me? Are you going to help me get into grad school? Will you be writing a recommendation letter for me? How will you benefit in ANY way by knowing what my grades were except to sate your bloated curiosity?

Freaking busybodies.

I'm proud of myself, though. I didn't tell her, when she asked. I just looked down at my paperwork, laughed, and said "You're so nosy, Ms. R."

She couldn't believe that I wouldn't tell her what my grades were, so she started guessing.

"Was it A's, B's? How did you do?"

"I did well."

"So was it A's or B's?"

Cue another laugh on my part. "I never tell people my grades."

"It must've been C's, then. Mostly C's."

REALLY?

I laughed in earnest then. "You can think whatever you want to think - that won't change what my grades were."

Then she goes, "I'm not telling you my grades either."

Uh....did I ask YOU? I don't recall that....

Seriously though. Such busybodies.

clocks and words

I need to force myself to write. Not to read...that comes as naturally as breathing (unless it's homework).

But to make time to write...that's another story.
He heh. No pun intended.

I thought I wrote best in the mornings, but apparently I don't. Since I can't seem to wake up to do it. But I'm not really free in the afternoons. And I'm tired in the evenings, plus I have to...well, I ought to have some sort of life with my family.
I've got to make this work.

I will.

I also had a REALLY weird dream that I won a scholarship....for $3,330 ....hmm. I made a vow to God to give Him that amount of money. Well.. $333, to be exact. But I guess that would be a really small scholarship. So far I've only paid $111 of it.

Okay. I get the message.

But the dream was weird because in it, my old manager from school (when I worked on campus) uh...we were sort of..interested in each other. And that's weird. Yep. Really weird. I haven't thought of him in ages...and there was nothing THERE when we did work together. I can't even remember his name...

Ah. Brandon. There we go.

But funny how a dream can mess with your feelings, eh?

It's scary sometimes.

Like now.

Like when I fear being thrown back into last summer and the pain and the fear and the exhaustion and the dread of not knowing or understanding.

Like when she says she's so dizzy she could fall over, but I don't know what to do.

I hate feeling helpless.

And then people ask how she's doing, and I say she's doing much better, because I don't know what else to say.

They'll blame me if I say she's not doing well…they'll ask me if she's getting treatment. But she's not. But how do you force someone to get treatment if they don't want it? And then when certain people say that you shouldn't try to coerce or force her… it's her life.

But what the heck? It's MY LIFE TOO. It's MY MOTHER, and I'M the one who would have to live without her if things went really bad. NOT YOU. NOT EFFING YOU.

So don't tell me to let her be. That it's her life. It's my darn life too. So shut up.

And to you stupid doctors (I'm on a roll, now) who don't return phone calls, I hate you. And I hope that one day… I hope that one day my mom is completely cancer-free and we'll never have to see your faces again.

And cancer?

F*CK YOU.

Ytringsfrihet - Episode 1 - Del 1/5