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whales, ewan mcgregor, moroccian, feature film drama, donal sutherland, freaks, translation, manchicken, television shows, discopub, grouphug, kieron jecchinis, wizardsof haute couture, gawain, u, keith truesdell, prince charles, theref, essay, stacey, party,
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they would look so nice on my dresser... "Tiffany.... You mother... is dying. Cancer. She has six months to live." Purple flowers? Would those look better cool than the yellow? God, I'm numb. The problem with pancreatic cancer is that it works too quickly. It sucks cool up life, eating out any soul left, leaving a body quiet, cool riddled with pain, clouded with morphine. Walking into her hospital room for the first time, it was the scent that hit me. Cleansers, antiseptic.... Sterilization at its finest. "Mom...?" I whisper, my voice quiet, hidden against all the tubes running through her body. "Oh... Becca... you're here, did you bring Suzanne?" My own goddamn mother... flesh and blood... my MOTHER... and she can't even remember my name.
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