Laugh With Me

My dad believes my dirty bathroom is the cause of all this. He wants me to recaulk immediately. Because, yes, aside from working and going through the medical ringer, I totally have time to recaulk my evil, time-traveling bathroom.

My uncle B. is going to pray for me, even though I’m a Democrat. At least he updated me on all the family cancers.

My aunt isn’t sure whether to tell my cousins, so she asked my mom for permission. Because my mom controls the spigots of information. Perhaps if we also put my mom in control of the spigots of evil, my bathroom wouldn’t be time traveling to try to kill me.

Also, my body is a total dick. I can’t have any pain killers except Tylenol, which doesn’t always work super-great for me, and I just had my last period two weeks ago, but my body was like “Oh, are you under a lot of stress? Can’t take the usual pain killers? How about some cramps?!” And then I assume my body gleefully danced around my evil bathroom while they both laughed like evil villains. Evilly.

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My Preferences

My preference is that this be some kind of severe infection along the lines of the last one, which yes, may lead us down a strange path of “Why does Betsy get weird lymph node infections?” But at least it’s something that resolves itself.

But I have to say that, I kind of thing that my second preference is that this is what it looks like, a very small, well-defined, easily removable cancer. Because that would be terrifying and awful, but it would also be a clear path with a resolution.

I think it being something that is not yet cancerous but could be, meaning that I have to just sit here and worry, and go through this again and again, knowing that it could, at any time become cancerous and we have to catch it? That would be very, very difficult.