She seemed to know me pretty well despite the questions that I ducked
She said, 'You'll like it here, Prague's like a Disneyland for the terminally fucked.'
I have my morning all set up now: I do my whole album sing along with Geoff Berner, then switch to the Smiths for "Vicar in a Tutu" and "What She Said," then the Happy Mondays finish off my drive with "Hallelujah," "Sunshine & Love" & "24 Hour Party People." Yessir. Life is a pretty sweet fruit.
In case you're wondering, my problems with the administration are ongoing. We had a *s*n*o*w*d*a*y* yesterday, so I had a bit of a break from the relentless haranguing (although it started up nicely today). People are starting to tell me to bring the union rep to any future meetings. I'm beginning to agree.
Went to visit my uncle yesterday afternoon. My grandmother, firmly lodged in denial, decided over the last two days that he shouldn't have morphine because it's "bad for his liver." Never mind that he's in stage four of skin cancer and the hospital gives him lower doses than he'd been taking over the fall and winter. She's decided that if he only gets the right treatment, he'll recover. So yesterday he was thrashing about on the bed, tearing his clothes off and moaning. He didn't recognize me. I'm not sure that he recognized my mother, although he said her name over and over as she held his hand and rubbed his back. She was fantastic in there: comforting, sensible, level-headed, loving. After the venomous tirades of my grandmother and the understandable tears of his wife, my mother must have seemed like an oasis of care. She stayed over last night and made sure that he started on morphine again, which helped him to relax and sleep. She made me think of what Robert Heinlein said, about how everyone should know how to comfort the dying. I don't know how to do this yet, but she's amazing. I'm in total awe.
