The Ballad of Right On.
I'm reading A Grief Out of Season by Noelle Fintushel and Dr. Nancy Hillard. It's out of print, and I've only gotten through the first two or three chapters, but damn. I highly recommend it to anyone whose parents have gone through a divorce or other weird trauma. There aren't a lot of books for adult children of divorced parents, let alone for when those parents split up during the child's adult years. And thanks to Dave Hoffman for posting a link on his FB directing me toward this book. It might be the only good thing I ever got from Facebook.
I got back from Vermont on Sunday at about 3am to a letter in my mailbox saying 1) I have the same kidney abnormality as my dad had (except my kidney is healthy and his kidney is, well, gone) and 2) I have a mass on my right ovary. Ninety-nine-point-nine-nine-one percent of the time, it's a cyst, and they either go away or get cut out or rupture and cause a shitload of pain. And it's a small mass, probably not relative to the size of my ovary, but small relative to, say, the size of a Joopie. At any rate, I have a doctor appointment tomorrow, which definitely means more money that I don't have, and probably a biopsy to make sure that it's not any other kind of weirdness.
AND there are no places to live in Vermont.
On the upside, I'm selling a lot of my stuff, so if there's anything that your house is missing, you should feel free to ask me if I have one that I'm getting rid of. Also, I'm dipping into my personal cache of The Rat Bat stuff to get rid of it, so the Etsy site is about to LITE UP.
In other news, Wasa flatbreads are my new pep-pep. Turkey bacon + monterrey jack + roma tomato + Wasa flatbread = yee yeee.
I got back from Vermont on Sunday at about 3am to a letter in my mailbox saying 1) I have the same kidney abnormality as my dad had (except my kidney is healthy and his kidney is, well, gone) and 2) I have a mass on my right ovary. Ninety-nine-point-nine-nine-one percent of the time, it's a cyst, and they either go away or get cut out or rupture and cause a shitload of pain. And it's a small mass, probably not relative to the size of my ovary, but small relative to, say, the size of a Joopie. At any rate, I have a doctor appointment tomorrow, which definitely means more money that I don't have, and probably a biopsy to make sure that it's not any other kind of weirdness.
AND there are no places to live in Vermont.
On the upside, I'm selling a lot of my stuff, so if there's anything that your house is missing, you should feel free to ask me if I have one that I'm getting rid of. Also, I'm dipping into my personal cache of The Rat Bat stuff to get rid of it, so the Etsy site is about to LITE UP.
In other news, Wasa flatbreads are my new pep-pep. Turkey bacon + monterrey jack + roma tomato + Wasa flatbread = yee yeee.