the big C

I know, I know.  I did it again.  And this time I went even longer without blogging.  But before you get all that is so not cool, you broke your promise, we hate you (because this is how you talk in my head, you jerks) allow me to explain. I actually have a really, really good excuse this time:  I am a chicken.  Yep.  See, for weeks now I've been dancing around explaining why I'm visiting my mom in Florida right now.  I've actually been avoiding even thinking about it, really, because I try to keep my distance from heavy, emotional stuff.  Stuff that's too deep.  Like, I don't watch sappy movies, I don't buy Halmark cards (unless they're the sassy, ironic ones that make fun of their recipient for getting old and having saggy boobs), and I don't like to be looked at or comforted on the rare occasion that I cry.  I've just always been like this.  So you can imagine how hard it is for a Shallow Hal like me to confront the fact that my Mama was diagnosed with breast cancer in January.  I mean, talk about throwing my ass into the deep end of the pool, right?!  And not wanting to think about it has made it extra hard to sit down and write about it, especially since my mom would probably discourage me from even sharing the news at all, because 'It's nothing and I'm fine!'  (She does not buy Halmark cards either; we're a lot alike.)  And she will be fine - they caught it early and it's a "very treatable" kind of breast cancer, whatever that means - but not before she goes through chemo, radiation, and all the other really fun stuff that comes along with it, like losing her hair (are you still technically a ginger if you're bald?).  It's cancer, and that shit's real.  Mom has a great attitude about it, though ("While you're here you can help me learn to tie scarves on my head!") and she's in great spirits.  But she's my mom, ya know?  Nobody wants to see their mom get sick, visibly sick, and know that she is in pain.  It's just not something anybody is ever really prepared for.  But then it happens, and you just deal with it.  What else can you do?

So anyway, my mom's boobs are the reason I'm in Florida, and essentially why I have been skipping days blogging.  I'm sorry I left you hanging, my doting, adoring, borderline obsessive fans, who number in the millions.  Now that I've finally spilled the beans about my little vacay, I can get back to my usual witty, surficial daily musings.  Your days will no longer be dark and empty, dear readers. 

Unless you'd rather watch a Lifetime movie, in which case your sappy ass is on your own.  I don't do deep.