Sunday, January 16, 2005
Death and indigestion.
A few things I forgot to mention:
* I went and watched my grandma's scope at her appointment the other day down at the Garneau medical center. Her doctor is quite reputable, I was assured by all the mysterious plaques from Texas on his walls, and hand drawn pictures from people who had evidently survived his surgery procedures. The scope is something that would clear the room at a cocktail party, but I thought it was very interesting. I've never seen aveolar flaps in "real" life. More soberingly though, I also saw all the scar tissue from the last round of cancer. Awakening. Even more of an ass-kicker was a man with an electronic voice-box in the waiting room. If I smoke long enough, I too can have the silky chords of Stephen Hawking.
*Godzilla has been a little tense lately. The latest row was me walking out of the room when she started ranting about how athletes are over-paid, and how this affects her life personally. I left, because it was the same lame arguments that I've always heard on the subject, and because I wanted to get a glass of water. My departure, apparently "huffy" and "full of attitude" was what started the row. I see: slipping innocuously out of the conversation I didn't even know was directed at me (I thought she was directing it towards her hapless mother). And rant, and shout, and rant and shout. In retrospect, I should have just told her to shut up, if it was really directed at me. Listeners can do that.
*Something I've been meaning to elucidate on for a while: If I walk through my house right now, and pick up any given object, there is a spread-sheet in the den that lists who that object will go to upon my grandmother's death. The bed that I sleep on, the lamp that I read by, the pictures that hang on the walls, the coffee grinder, the house beneath my feet. You get the picture. It's hideous. Morbid, superficial, awful and yes, makes me very uncomfortable that my grandma has been working the kinks out of her last will and testament with great fervour lately. Included with this has been the nasty financial bits dealing with the Sister Agglomerate. The SA has taken numerous loans out from my grandma, one for example being around 50 K, from the wealthy sister no less, so you can imagine how bad the rest are. This acts against their inheritance, so my dad god delegated to inform each of the SA that their debts would affect them. And a stink has arisen, as predicted. One denies owing anything (namely a certain 50 K), and on and on and on. It is all so disgusting, but it has gotten me thinking about my own will and testament, or my lackthereof. And I think it will remain 'my lackthereof' - just auction off my crap, ok? Unless I have kids. In which case, auction off my crap and split the dividends between them equally. No wait, give the smartest kid an extra penny or two, because chances are, they'll be the one taking care of my legal matters. Poor bastards.
However, though it all seems awful to me, I do understand why my grandma is doing all this. It is making her happy to know that everything will be taken care of, that everyone will be ok after she's departed. And plus, I empathize with wanting to get the nasty bits out of the way so she can just sit back and enjoy what time she has ahead of her, which is probably a long time still to come hopefully. I can't deny that I'm still worried that this is the last year though. It seems more serious this time around, and she's still talking about refusing the surgical procedure, because it would be bigger and worse then the last one. Her biopsy is on wednesday, so after that, we shall see. I also keep thinking about Wendy. Wendy got told "eight weeks" in December, and died in two. No one has told Grandma a time though, and I'm sort of hoping they don't.
*Something strange is going to happen tomorrow, I can feel it in my bones.
*I added a snail to Copernicus's vase a few days ago. In all it's asexual wonder, though I'm hoping the hermaphrodite function is broken in the thing, or that Copernicus likes baby escargot- else I may have a problem later on. Nothing that the toilet can't fix though I suppose. Anyways, as of now, Copernicus plays Pen. guard and will not let Egbert cross a certain line of height on the side of the vase walls. Nor will he allow the snail to sit on the Rhodenderon roots. He sniffs it, scowls (betta's scowl, you better believe it) and knocks his block off, turning a fifteen minute journey to the top into a completely fruitless endeavor. Egbert reaches the bottom in like one second flat. If I were Egbert, I'd have self-esteem issues by now. But he still perseveres, and in the spirit of not losing an eye, he pulls his little gangly eye things back in as soon as he senses Copernicus is near. Like a crustacean skydiver putting on goggles before the plunge. Maybe my snail is into extreme sports. He's really quite tough. Not only did he survive -40 with a windchill tucked into my jacket pocket on Wednesday night, but he also lived through the emotional turmoil of sitting next to the salt shaker at Joey's Only. Imminent death for small crustacean from guiless human whimsy. . .
*My dad watched me feed Elaugh today, and she dropped her mouse. It was embarrassing all around.
"Umm... She doesn't usually do that."
"Well...should you try again then? Or will she do it on her own?"
(My snake can't do anything on her own but nap, and make tunnels in woodchips, and eat.)
[Attempt to pick up mouse. Reptile decides she is on the open savannah, and should protect her kill with utmost ferocity. Hisses a little, sticks out tongue, sizes up my gloved hand. I curse under my breath and push her head away. Dad snickers.]
"Crikey!"
¶ 10:51 PM
* I went and watched my grandma's scope at her appointment the other day down at the Garneau medical center. Her doctor is quite reputable, I was assured by all the mysterious plaques from Texas on his walls, and hand drawn pictures from people who had evidently survived his surgery procedures. The scope is something that would clear the room at a cocktail party, but I thought it was very interesting. I've never seen aveolar flaps in "real" life. More soberingly though, I also saw all the scar tissue from the last round of cancer. Awakening. Even more of an ass-kicker was a man with an electronic voice-box in the waiting room. If I smoke long enough, I too can have the silky chords of Stephen Hawking.
*Godzilla has been a little tense lately. The latest row was me walking out of the room when she started ranting about how athletes are over-paid, and how this affects her life personally. I left, because it was the same lame arguments that I've always heard on the subject, and because I wanted to get a glass of water. My departure, apparently "huffy" and "full of attitude" was what started the row. I see: slipping innocuously out of the conversation I didn't even know was directed at me (I thought she was directing it towards her hapless mother). And rant, and shout, and rant and shout. In retrospect, I should have just told her to shut up, if it was really directed at me. Listeners can do that.
*Something I've been meaning to elucidate on for a while: If I walk through my house right now, and pick up any given object, there is a spread-sheet in the den that lists who that object will go to upon my grandmother's death. The bed that I sleep on, the lamp that I read by, the pictures that hang on the walls, the coffee grinder, the house beneath my feet. You get the picture. It's hideous. Morbid, superficial, awful and yes, makes me very uncomfortable that my grandma has been working the kinks out of her last will and testament with great fervour lately. Included with this has been the nasty financial bits dealing with the Sister Agglomerate. The SA has taken numerous loans out from my grandma, one for example being around 50 K, from the wealthy sister no less, so you can imagine how bad the rest are. This acts against their inheritance, so my dad god delegated to inform each of the SA that their debts would affect them. And a stink has arisen, as predicted. One denies owing anything (namely a certain 50 K), and on and on and on. It is all so disgusting, but it has gotten me thinking about my own will and testament, or my lackthereof. And I think it will remain 'my lackthereof' - just auction off my crap, ok? Unless I have kids. In which case, auction off my crap and split the dividends between them equally. No wait, give the smartest kid an extra penny or two, because chances are, they'll be the one taking care of my legal matters. Poor bastards.
However, though it all seems awful to me, I do understand why my grandma is doing all this. It is making her happy to know that everything will be taken care of, that everyone will be ok after she's departed. And plus, I empathize with wanting to get the nasty bits out of the way so she can just sit back and enjoy what time she has ahead of her, which is probably a long time still to come hopefully. I can't deny that I'm still worried that this is the last year though. It seems more serious this time around, and she's still talking about refusing the surgical procedure, because it would be bigger and worse then the last one. Her biopsy is on wednesday, so after that, we shall see. I also keep thinking about Wendy. Wendy got told "eight weeks" in December, and died in two. No one has told Grandma a time though, and I'm sort of hoping they don't.
*Something strange is going to happen tomorrow, I can feel it in my bones.
*I added a snail to Copernicus's vase a few days ago. In all it's asexual wonder, though I'm hoping the hermaphrodite function is broken in the thing, or that Copernicus likes baby escargot- else I may have a problem later on. Nothing that the toilet can't fix though I suppose. Anyways, as of now, Copernicus plays Pen. guard and will not let Egbert cross a certain line of height on the side of the vase walls. Nor will he allow the snail to sit on the Rhodenderon roots. He sniffs it, scowls (betta's scowl, you better believe it) and knocks his block off, turning a fifteen minute journey to the top into a completely fruitless endeavor. Egbert reaches the bottom in like one second flat. If I were Egbert, I'd have self-esteem issues by now. But he still perseveres, and in the spirit of not losing an eye, he pulls his little gangly eye things back in as soon as he senses Copernicus is near. Like a crustacean skydiver putting on goggles before the plunge. Maybe my snail is into extreme sports. He's really quite tough. Not only did he survive -40 with a windchill tucked into my jacket pocket on Wednesday night, but he also lived through the emotional turmoil of sitting next to the salt shaker at Joey's Only. Imminent death for small crustacean from guiless human whimsy. . .
*My dad watched me feed Elaugh today, and she dropped her mouse. It was embarrassing all around.
"Umm... She doesn't usually do that."
"Well...should you try again then? Or will she do it on her own?"
(My snake can't do anything on her own but nap, and make tunnels in woodchips, and eat.)
[Attempt to pick up mouse. Reptile decides she is on the open savannah, and should protect her kill with utmost ferocity. Hisses a little, sticks out tongue, sizes up my gloved hand. I curse under my breath and push her head away. Dad snickers.]
"Crikey!"
¶ 10:51 PM
