Mal ,'Out Of Gas'
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risqué (and frisqué), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
Am home and plunging back into packing mode, but had to share my "haul" from work...
Nice cake, card, and small monetary gift. Nice. Then add in a "welcome pack" from the Denver office - a Rockies hat and black and purple nail polish. Then add a "trading card" showing me in full A's gear with all my work stats on the back. And a framed trade notice that a bunch of them signed trading me from Oakland to Denver.
I felt all warm and loved. And then I came home. Gah.
Bad news. Stage 4 cancer. Probably 2 weeks to 2 months to live.
Oh Drew, I am so very sorry. Much peace and strength to you and yours.
Oh shit. No words, Drew and Kristin. Just shit. And I am so sorry.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK, Drew. I'm so sorry.
Damn, Drew. I wish there was any way at all I could help, but as it is, all the strength in the world to everyone.
Oh Drew.
FUCK CANCER. SIDEWAYS. WITH A SPORK.
{{{{ND and Family}}}
The kick in the teeth is that I made it back up to LA last night and got up this morning to drive back to San Diego and I was so sick I couldn't make it out of bed. Finally feeling a little better now and will hopefully be able to drive back to San Diego later to tonight.
I'm so sorry, Drew.
Well, fuck. FUCK CANCER! I'm sorry, Drew. That is just sucktastic. {{{{Drew and family}}}}.