If I was any kind of popular blogger, I’d be doing something called vagueblogging today. It would be all woe is me, I’m all sad, things are hard, love me please. But I’m a crappy blogger and I hate vagueblogging and vaguebooking and any kind of vagueness that doesn’t come with an excuse of I was awake all night with my baby/kitten/goat/lover.
(That’s a goat, OR a lover, not a goat lover, because that’s illegal.)
It’s my grandmother’s birthday today and I am all woe is me, sadness and dark. She would have been 68, except fuck cancer. Fuck cancer, man. Cancer is a bastard thing, tearing families apart and leaving wounds in its wake.
Cancer.
Fuck cancer.
