First of all, Las Vegas is really great. Everything is huge - the mountain ranges are huge, the hotels are huge, the shows are huge, and the buffets are really, really, really, really, really huge. I mean HUGE. We kept going to the same one, because it was so awesome that you really couldn't appreciate it in one sitting.
So we didn't. We appreciated it in four sittings.
And we left every single one just before we exploded. Seriously, it's amazing that we can even think about food without splitting at the seams. And I ignored the No Gluten rule completely, with the result that I am swollen as a tick and aching in every joint.
I'm glad to be back to the routine - but boy, did we have fun. I'll report more on my other blog, but probably in a day or two, when I've partially recovered. For now, I need a nap.
And a lot of digestive enzymes...
10/29/10
Coasting
I haven't written anything for a while because there isn't an awful lot happening that is reportable.
The ibandronate/Boniva has helped with the hip pain to a reasonable degree. The tumor in my spine is making itself felt, but I'm used to moderate back pain - it's not pleasant, but I can handle it. I still need a cane to get around, but I can walk half a block or so without knocking myself out for the day, and I can sleep for several hours at a stretch. This is a good thing.
We're taking advantage of my little spate of increased function by going on a very small vacation, which I am busily planning.
I'm also taking advantage of this reprieve by driving around and running errands. I know that doesn't sound like a lot of fun, and certainly it tires me a lot more than seems reasonable, but I'm enjoying myself. It's amazing what a little trip to the grocery store or library does for the soul when you haven't been able to do anything constructive for a long time.
We also got a used van, and are planning to get a wheelchair/scooter lift put in at some point, so that I can use it easily when the hips become non-functional again.
And I think that's all the news that's fit to print!
10/18/10
Nothing Much...
I got a present from Denise the other day. Thanks, Denise!!! It's a really awesome felted critter, it's so cute and reminds me of my parents' dog. Except that she's not orange and pink, and she has a totally different tail and ear set, and she moves and begs for stuff, and she has lumps, and she growls and barks at people who come to the door... where was I going with this?
Oh, yeah. Unfortunately my camera is broken, so I can't post a photo of the critter for you. So you'll have to link to her blog and check her stuff out for yourself. It might take you a while to get to some of her real critters - she's very eclectic, so there's something new and wildly different every day. But you can learn a lot about felting, and maybe about dyeing, and definitely about creativity. Denise is a closet genius. If she were scientifically inclined, she'd be Tesla, or maybe Edison, except with a braid.
The Tamoxifen, or the Boniva, or some combination thereof, is giving me monster joint aches. Wheeee. The flip side of that is that at least for the moment, the Boniva really helped with the bone pain in the hip. And while joint aches are not really great for the Quality of Life, they totally trump bone pain.
The nausea, on the other hand, pretty much sucks. But I guess you can't have everything.
My giant Birthday Balloon is still floating in the living room. It's starting to look a bit like me - a bit withered, but still trying. I appreciate the effort, so I refuse to get rid of it until it sinks to the floor. At which point I'll throw it away, but I'll feel guilty about it, because it was trying so hard.
Maybe if I were a better person and more prepared, I would have a helium tank around here so that I could perform resuscitation - but I'm worried that if I had a helium tank I would do something wrong and blow up the house with it. Or maybe fill the house with helium so that it breaks free of the foundations and floats into the air and then comes down on some poor woman with striped socks and red sparkly shoes and then hordes of squeaky Little People would smack me with giant lollipops and force me to go camping in a field full of poppies and ragweed so that my allergies would knock me out until the flying monkeys could get me.
I'm afraid of the flying monkeys. So the balloon is going to have to continue on its current course and fade away to a lumpy, annoying, shapeless, dysfunctional thing that will need to be dealt with somehow, in spite of its best efforts.
The parallels are obvious.
And finally, a suggestion:
The fall apple crop is awesome this year. Seriously, go out into the countryside, enjoy the last few autumn leaves, visit a farm and pick up a bag or two of your favorite apple varietal. That way you will feed a small independent business and yourself, at the same time. It's a Win/Win!
While you are there, pick up a pumpkin or two - Halloween is only a couple weeks away, and it's never too early to enjoy Halloween. The Cat is trying to prepare for Halloween by practicing at turning black. So far all she's managed is throwing me Black Looks, but she's practicing that a lot, so she might get there eventually. Or she might manage to turn me into a Newt. You never know.
This is an old photo of The Cat, but it gives you an idea of what I put up with every day in terms of Attitude. I didn't photoshop in the eyes - she's got blue eyes, and sometimes photos just come out that way. Or else maybe the camera picked up on the quality of her soul, I can't be certain...
10/13/10
Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness
Today is Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness Day.
It's a good thing that there is a day specifically aimed at getting people to think about Metastatic Breast Cancer.
Because let's face it, we don't want to think about it. If we know someone who has breast cancer (and there are few out there who don't, even if they aren't aware of it), our greatest fear is that our loved one will move on to Stage IV. If we are someone who has breast cancer, or who is a breast cancer 'survivor', our greatest fear is that we might some day move on to Stage IV. If our loved one has metastatic disease, we fear and grieve for them, because we know that there is no cure and that there is a 97% chance that their cancer will kill them (painfully and cruelly)... and a 80% chance that it will do so in less than 5 years**.
And if we are in that population of folks with Stage IV Breast Cancer... well, we know we are the walking dead.
What's more, everyone else knows it, and they treat us that way. Even if they don't mean to. Some treat us with greater kindness, because they know they will not have us for long. Others avoid us, as though we were contagious. Many try to shut us up or force us to pretend that we are other than what we are, by telling us that we might not die ('they could find a cure tomorrow'), or by telling us that it's all in our attitude (by inference, we got here through bad attitude, and are dying because we are not simply turning our frowns upside-down).
Even the organizations that are supposedly on our side ignore us and cover our scariness by lumping us in under the generic label 'Breast Cancer Survivor'. Ironically, it is the very fact that we are not survivors that makes them want to pretend we are not there. We are the Monster Under The Bed; we are the future for many of them, the future they are most afraid of, the future they are most anxious to avoid. We are the reason they ingest poison and suffer radiation, in hopes of escaping the teeth and claws of the Monster.
They have good reason to be afraid. More than half of all hormone-negative breast cancer patients will experience a recurrence, and even those in the lowest risk group - hormone positive cancer patients who have received all the standard treatments - have a 42% chance of recurrence. And recurrence means a greater chance of metastasis.
We are the keepers of the Monster, and that makes us scary. But we are also You, your mother, your sister, your partner, your best friend. And that makes us Beloved, and Important, and Precious. We are well worth saving.
Yes, it's a good thing that there is a day set aside for Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness. But I can't help but wonder why we are only given a day, rather than a week. Metastatic disease is currently incurable, and we haven't gotten very far in controlling it or treating it. The treatments available are largely toxic and often are harder on our quality of life than the disease itself, and sometimes kill us off more quickly than the cancer would. The pharmaceutical companies themselves admit that there is little solid evidence that chemo significantly prolongs the life of even those who have a good response (as measured by tumor stabilization or regression).
Yet we spend less per week on research to cure metastatic breast cancer (and thus all breast cancer) than we spend on one cup of coffee per capita during the same week. And most of the research that is being funded is funded by pharmaceutical companies whose profit, and therefore whose funded studies, are invested in current (non-curative, toxic) treatments, rather than in development of new, less toxic, and potentially curative treatments.
Wouldn't it be easier to sweep the Monster Under The Bed away by funding research for a cure for metastatic cancer, rather than by refusing to look in our direction?
Be more aware of Metastatic Breast Cancer. Spend a whole week thinking about it. And if you can, spend some money on it, too - give to organizations that are funding research that is radical and groundbreaking and potentially curative, like the Breast Cancer Research Foundation or Stand Up 2 Cancer, or give to an organization that directly helps people who are suffering with breast cancer, like many of those listed by BreakAwayFromCancer.com.
**Keep in mind that this statistic is misleadingly optimistic. In that 'surviving' 20% are the folks who die the day, week, month after their 5-year anniversary. On the other hand, if you are lucky enough to make it that 5 years and are relatively healthy by that time, your chances go up of making it another 5 - only half of that group will die in that time.
It's a good thing that there is a day specifically aimed at getting people to think about Metastatic Breast Cancer.
Because let's face it, we don't want to think about it. If we know someone who has breast cancer (and there are few out there who don't, even if they aren't aware of it), our greatest fear is that our loved one will move on to Stage IV. If we are someone who has breast cancer, or who is a breast cancer 'survivor', our greatest fear is that we might some day move on to Stage IV. If our loved one has metastatic disease, we fear and grieve for them, because we know that there is no cure and that there is a 97% chance that their cancer will kill them (painfully and cruelly)... and a 80% chance that it will do so in less than 5 years**.
And if we are in that population of folks with Stage IV Breast Cancer... well, we know we are the walking dead.
What's more, everyone else knows it, and they treat us that way. Even if they don't mean to. Some treat us with greater kindness, because they know they will not have us for long. Others avoid us, as though we were contagious. Many try to shut us up or force us to pretend that we are other than what we are, by telling us that we might not die ('they could find a cure tomorrow'), or by telling us that it's all in our attitude (by inference, we got here through bad attitude, and are dying because we are not simply turning our frowns upside-down).
Even the organizations that are supposedly on our side ignore us and cover our scariness by lumping us in under the generic label 'Breast Cancer Survivor'. Ironically, it is the very fact that we are not survivors that makes them want to pretend we are not there. We are the Monster Under The Bed; we are the future for many of them, the future they are most afraid of, the future they are most anxious to avoid. We are the reason they ingest poison and suffer radiation, in hopes of escaping the teeth and claws of the Monster.
They have good reason to be afraid. More than half of all hormone-negative breast cancer patients will experience a recurrence, and even those in the lowest risk group - hormone positive cancer patients who have received all the standard treatments - have a 42% chance of recurrence. And recurrence means a greater chance of metastasis.
We are the keepers of the Monster, and that makes us scary. But we are also You, your mother, your sister, your partner, your best friend. And that makes us Beloved, and Important, and Precious. We are well worth saving.
Yes, it's a good thing that there is a day set aside for Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness. But I can't help but wonder why we are only given a day, rather than a week. Metastatic disease is currently incurable, and we haven't gotten very far in controlling it or treating it. The treatments available are largely toxic and often are harder on our quality of life than the disease itself, and sometimes kill us off more quickly than the cancer would. The pharmaceutical companies themselves admit that there is little solid evidence that chemo significantly prolongs the life of even those who have a good response (as measured by tumor stabilization or regression).
Yet we spend less per week on research to cure metastatic breast cancer (and thus all breast cancer) than we spend on one cup of coffee per capita during the same week. And most of the research that is being funded is funded by pharmaceutical companies whose profit, and therefore whose funded studies, are invested in current (non-curative, toxic) treatments, rather than in development of new, less toxic, and potentially curative treatments.
Wouldn't it be easier to sweep the Monster Under The Bed away by funding research for a cure for metastatic cancer, rather than by refusing to look in our direction?
Be more aware of Metastatic Breast Cancer. Spend a whole week thinking about it. And if you can, spend some money on it, too - give to organizations that are funding research that is radical and groundbreaking and potentially curative, like the Breast Cancer Research Foundation or Stand Up 2 Cancer, or give to an organization that directly helps people who are suffering with breast cancer, like many of those listed by BreakAwayFromCancer.com.
---------------------
**Keep in mind that this statistic is misleadingly optimistic. In that 'surviving' 20% are the folks who die the day, week, month after their 5-year anniversary. On the other hand, if you are lucky enough to make it that 5 years and are relatively healthy by that time, your chances go up of making it another 5 - only half of that group will die in that time.
10/12/10
Another Step
Today my dear friend Roberta had to cede more territory to The Monster.
Today my oncologist confidently stated that some day we would have to move on to chemotherapy. He was able to do that because we all know that at some point the symptoms/pain from the tumors will be bad enough that I'll wonder whether it's worse than the chemo would feel. I'll have to balance evil against evil, with no way of knowing which is worse. We all suspect that point is coming in the not too distant future.
In the end, the result will be the same. The bumps in the road might be affected by my choices, but the destination is assured.
Some day it won't matter what choice Roberta or I make. The Monster will have eaten everything it can, and we will escape down a path that The Monster and our loved ones will not be able to follow.
Until then, Roberta and I just do as we must do - or stop doing what we can no longer do. And endure it, because refusing to endure is not among the choices offered.
*****************
Another reminder, which I will probably be repeating for the next couple weeks. It is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Get your thermogram (or mammogram if that's your only option), do your self-check (yes, I do recommend it - I know too many women who found their cancer through self-check when their mammograms showed nothing), get your annual pap smear - or PSA test, if you are a guy. Make sure you are getting plenty of vitamin D via sunlight and/or D3, make sure you are getting enough iodine, get your hormone levels checked if you suspect they might be unbalanced.
But also - if you feel that something just isn't right with you lately, don't let yourself be put off just because initial tests don't show anything. I know it can be discouraging to deal with doctors who pooh-pooh you, but keep at it until you find the real cause of the problem. If I hadn't let myself be put off, we might have found my cancer a year earlier, and it might have been curable at that point. Trust yourself and your knowledge of your own body. Be your own fierce advocate.
You are worth it.
10/9/10
October Is A Good Month
This bears repeating, so I'm posting it on both my blogs - but if you read both, you are only obligated to read it once!
October is my favorite month. The leaves turn colors, the weather is suitable for all things woolen, the air is crisp and so are the apples... what's not to love?
October is my favorite month. The leaves turn colors, the weather is suitable for all things woolen, the air is crisp and so are the apples... what's not to love?
Not only that, but there is Halloween/Samhain. Not to mention my 21st wedding anniversary. And my sister Jana's and brother Joel's birthdays (happy birthday to yooooooo... love you guys!!)
From now until the first of the coming year, it's Holiday Madness - Hooray!!
AND October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and Non-GMO Month. Please link to information on both issues, if you aren't aware of them already. They are critical to your health and the health of those you love. Take action where you can, educate where you can, get involved where you can.
Have a wonderful autumn, everyone!!
10/5/10
That's What I Said...
There's an excellent article on the Huffington Post website, written by Mark Hyman, MD, regarding the reliability of medical studies and the resulting supposedly 'Evidence Based Medicine'. It not only warns against trusting media reportage of health and science, but also tells you why you should do your own homework when it comes to trusting recommendations regarding prescriptions and treatments, and how you can better assess whether a particular treatment is one you want.
This information applies to everyone, whether they have cancer, diabetes, heart disease, a sinus infection, or are considering whether or not they want to take the highly marketed Seasonal Flu/H1N1 combination vaccine. So please go read it, and mark it in your Bookmarks folder for future reference.
While you are at it, read the article mentioned (and linked) therein, written by Marcia Angell, former editor-in-chief of the New England Journal of Medicine. It's a somewhat more technical explanation of the issue, and very enlightening.
This information applies to everyone, whether they have cancer, diabetes, heart disease, a sinus infection, or are considering whether or not they want to take the highly marketed Seasonal Flu/H1N1 combination vaccine. So please go read it, and mark it in your Bookmarks folder for future reference.
While you are at it, read the article mentioned (and linked) therein, written by Marcia Angell, former editor-in-chief of the New England Journal of Medicine. It's a somewhat more technical explanation of the issue, and very enlightening.
9/30/10
There And Back Again
So the other day, Scott & I decided to go to Treasure Island Casino for a nice dinner and a little bit of video poker. Nothing big, but we wanted to take advantage of their 'free stuff on your birthday month' promotion, and we like the buffet (especially on Crab Leg night).
And we did mostly have a good time, other than the little snafu with the slot machine download thingie (but in the end I won lots of money - if you count 'more than 10' as lots)... and other than the rather serious conversation we had midway through.
The thing is, last time I was at Treasure Island was when I took Bren there in May. In May I was walking around the casino, and although standing in one spot got a bit uncomfortable after an extended period, I didn't have any problems to speak of.
In less than 5 months, I went from pretty much normal to having to use a scooter just to get into the casino, much less get myself around the building. Even a cane or walker would not have done it for me. I get winded if I walk half a block down the sidewalk. It's getting to be quite a project to get up and down the stairs in front of the house. I'm not just in pain, although I am in pain - I'm getting weaker.
Five months.
The thing about cancer is that from the inside, you deal with it on a day by day basis. So it's easy to overlook just how quickly it is eating away at you. You are too busy finding ways to work around the parts The Monster has bitten off.
But the fact is, The Monster is voracious, and it eats faster and faster. So it's time to stop and really think about what that means. We need to prepare.
It feels overwhelming. On both practical and emotional terms. We can't deal with it all at once, and it's not really possible to do so. As my friend Roberta says, the very end is fairly predictable, but everyone's path to that bit of road is different. So we can't know exactly what we'll need in the future.
But the future is coming on us fast.
And we're talking about it.
That's a start.
And we did mostly have a good time, other than the little snafu with the slot machine download thingie (but in the end I won lots of money - if you count 'more than 10' as lots)... and other than the rather serious conversation we had midway through.
The thing is, last time I was at Treasure Island was when I took Bren there in May. In May I was walking around the casino, and although standing in one spot got a bit uncomfortable after an extended period, I didn't have any problems to speak of.
In less than 5 months, I went from pretty much normal to having to use a scooter just to get into the casino, much less get myself around the building. Even a cane or walker would not have done it for me. I get winded if I walk half a block down the sidewalk. It's getting to be quite a project to get up and down the stairs in front of the house. I'm not just in pain, although I am in pain - I'm getting weaker.
Five months.
The thing about cancer is that from the inside, you deal with it on a day by day basis. So it's easy to overlook just how quickly it is eating away at you. You are too busy finding ways to work around the parts The Monster has bitten off.
But the fact is, The Monster is voracious, and it eats faster and faster. So it's time to stop and really think about what that means. We need to prepare.
It feels overwhelming. On both practical and emotional terms. We can't deal with it all at once, and it's not really possible to do so. As my friend Roberta says, the very end is fairly predictable, but everyone's path to that bit of road is different. So we can't know exactly what we'll need in the future.
But the future is coming on us fast.
And we're talking about it.
That's a start.
9/29/10
Stupid Faces... I Mean, Stupid Numbers
Every bloody time I go in to the doctor's office - most particularly the ER or the oncology office, a nurse, a doctor, or a janitor asks me what my pain level is, 1-10.
At some time in the past, they used to also show me a little chart with faces attached to each number, which is supposed to help you figure out which number you are at. "1" (or sometimes "0") is a happy face and "10" is crying.
Whether I am in pain or not, I never know how to answer this question. Secretly, I think it is a moronic question in the first place.
If I wasn't in any pain, why would I be sitting in a cold, uncomfortable waiting room for eons, talking to medical personnel, when both of us would rather be outside in the sunshine, eating butterflies or something? So "0" or "1" is already out of the question. But even if we disregard that issue...
How can this chart give any meaningful information to the medical person? I know for a fact that my idea of pain is completely different from another person's idea of pain, that my 3 might be another person's 8, so how can any useful information be gotten from this exercise?
I know this for a fact because once I went to the ER because the giant staph infection in my leg had actually dug so far down into me that it was in danger of actually eating through the bone, so the ER doc had the pleasant task of cutting out all the dead tissue and evil stuff going all the way down through my leg. He did this without anesthesia (by this I mean that he didn't give either one of us anesthesia - my guess is that the process wasn't much fun for him, either). I bit my lip hard and tried not to squeak.
In the meantime, the woman on the other side of the curtain from me was screaming loudly and without pause for breath that she was dying, and why wouldn't anyone help her, her head was going to explode. I'm pretty sure that the nurse dealing with her wished that her head would explode. Instead the Saint of Nursing just kept calmly and patiently telling the woman that she had a very mild ear infection, and the pain would probably go away when the drops took effect in a minute or two.
I think she was probably right, but the woman was too busy screaming to notice that now her ears only hurt because they were getting the full brunt of the intense decibel levels emitting from her own mouth.
My point being that I have had bad ear infections that caused me to vomit every time I moved, and I'd put that on about a 3 level for pain and maybe a 7 or 8 level of unpleasantness (because I hate nausea more than just about anything else), and this woman didn't have anything like that (because she wasn't throwing up, and if her ears hurt that bad she wouldn't have been able to scream like that). The staph infection reaming was much worse than the ear infection pain. But if asked at the time, my bet is that the screamer would have claimed a 10, and I would would have claimed a 6 or 7, tops.
An added complication is that even one's own pain is relative.
For instance, after I gave birth to my son - 36 hours hard labor, most of it on Pitocin, after an entire week of nonproductive but painful contractions every other minute, so that I hadn't slept the entire week - I had to have some X-rays done to make sure they'd gotten all the cancer out of my body two months earlier. I have tiny, rolling, collapsing veins, and the nurses couldn't get hold of any of them in order to inject the contrast dye. The fourth nurse, after fishing around in my arm for five minutes or so and seeing the black bruises blooming on both arms, burst into both apologies and tears. I was very calm and smiling, and just encouraged her to keep trying elsewhere on the arm, that it wasn't any big deal.
And really, at the time it wasn't a big deal. Not compared to the pain of childbirth, which was my yardstick at the time. My bet is that if you'd done the same thing to me ten years later, I wouldn't have been so nonchalant about the whole thing. The pain scale would have been very different.
And now, well, my pain hasn't been the same from one month to the next during this whole ordeal, but my pain scale reportage has been pretty consistent. Because I'm comparing my pain today with my pain yesterday, not with my pain last year. I have a hard time remembering what that felt like. It's been a long time since I wasn't in some pain, so for me that baseline 'normal' pain is now "1" and I go from there.
I doubt I'll ever get to 10 unless they either do major surgery on me without anesthetic, or until my life is in critical danger.
Screaming Woman would be at "10" with my baseline pain now. Because she is used to feeling No Pain, and that is what she expects out of life. Must be nice. I would have envied her, if I hadn't been wrestling so heroically against the urge to tie her in a knot and stuff her feet into her mouth to shut her the heck up.
So unless the only reason they want this information is to gauge your likelihood of erupting into hysterical screaming fits that might frighten another patient into having a heart attack, I don't really see the point of this whole 'Rate Your Pain' exercise.
On the other hand, it did inspire this. Which I think is much more practical as a real gauge. And also makes me giggle, making it doubly effective. I think they should use it in the ER.
9/28/10
Nothing Much Happening
Beloved Son is home sick. At least, he's not taking his morning classes, although he may go to the evening Biology course, since that's only once a week and so less forgiving of the occasional No Show.
Although it smacks of locking the barn door after the horses have fled, he and his hacking lungs and clouds of attendant germs are sequestered in his bedroom, from which he only emerges in order to receive from my loving hands dishes of leftover curried chicken and corn-on-the-cob and glasses of pineapple-coconut juice, with cold meds for dessert. He's evidently been sick (but sans cough and sniffles) for two days, and during that time he was kissing my maternal cheek and washing the dishes, so it's too late now for me to avoid The Plague.
But we go through the motions, anyway. So I'm currently sitting alone in the living room, typing away whilst listening to all sorts of odd tinny noises floating from his room - obviously he is watching Japanese Anime videos on his computer in order to while away the hours. Koff, snort, hack...
Much as I love his dear sqwoonchy face, I'm probably better off with the current view, which consists of a vase of autumnal-looking flowers from the dear husband, a big bunch of beautiful pink roses from the parents, and a huge balloon - one of those silver mylar ones, this one sporting not only the words "Happy Birthday", but also a cartoon rendering of a sizeable bouquet of non-mylar balloons. Something vaguely ironic about that, but I am too distracted by the sneezing fit I hear in the other room to think about it too much.
My son may be less a classmate than a Lab Project if he attends that Biology class tonight...
Although it smacks of locking the barn door after the horses have fled, he and his hacking lungs and clouds of attendant germs are sequestered in his bedroom, from which he only emerges in order to receive from my loving hands dishes of leftover curried chicken and corn-on-the-cob and glasses of pineapple-coconut juice, with cold meds for dessert. He's evidently been sick (but sans cough and sniffles) for two days, and during that time he was kissing my maternal cheek and washing the dishes, so it's too late now for me to avoid The Plague.
But we go through the motions, anyway. So I'm currently sitting alone in the living room, typing away whilst listening to all sorts of odd tinny noises floating from his room - obviously he is watching Japanese Anime videos on his computer in order to while away the hours. Koff, snort, hack...
Much as I love his dear sqwoonchy face, I'm probably better off with the current view, which consists of a vase of autumnal-looking flowers from the dear husband, a big bunch of beautiful pink roses from the parents, and a huge balloon - one of those silver mylar ones, this one sporting not only the words "Happy Birthday", but also a cartoon rendering of a sizeable bouquet of non-mylar balloons. Something vaguely ironic about that, but I am too distracted by the sneezing fit I hear in the other room to think about it too much.
My son may be less a classmate than a Lab Project if he attends that Biology class tonight...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)