Things Can Only Get Better

This was the kind of week that I don't want to have to go through ever again. Some people have a lot worse to deal with, I know.

While in Connecticut last weekend, I received news that my dear friend Matt had died suddenly, so I journeyed up there again for his funeral on Tuesday. On Wednesday night I heard about an acquaintance, Diane, in Connecticut, who committed suicide by taking an overdose and locking herself in a freezer in her cellar. (There is no connection between the two deaths, fortunately.) On Friday my sister called to say that my Dad has lung cancer, weighs less than 100 pounds, and is not going to receive any chemo or similar treatment. I talked to him a short time ago, and he says he's feeling so much better, the treatment's going so well, there's nothing to worry about, and people are telling him he looks a great deal better than de did last week. My sister then told me an entirely different version from what Dad had said. I then called my late friend Matt's home to speak to his widow, my darling friend Bea. Matt's voice was on the answering machine... To cap it all, my roommate's dog died.

Lucky white heather, anyone?