Forgive me, I need to vent.
Dear 2011, FUCK YOU. Just ... fuck you. The rest of this year better be filled with winning lottery numbers and fabulous book deals and trips to Disneyland.
My Dad just texted me. His mom, my Grandma Vida, passed away this morning. I am so worried about him. I am also tired of crying.
To sum up, fuck off, 2011.
Oh, Jilli, I am so sorry. Your poor dad. And you poor you. Ugh.
Oh, Jilli, how awful. I'm so sorry.
I am so sorry, Jilli. I'll be holding you and your father in my heart.
Jilli, I'm so sorry for your family's loss.
Jilli, I'm so sorry for your loss, and am wishing strength for your father, and for you.
I'm so sorry, Jilli.
I just had a meeting where all the Calc II instructors got together to go over the first draft of the midterm. This meeting ended up as about 45 minutes of people screaming at each other.
Oh Jilli. Massive amounts of hugs. And all comfort and support to your dad.
It makes me think of the shoe company one of the characters in The Big Chill owned. "Running Dog," I think
Me too. "I'm never taking these off." As much as I dislike Wm. Hurt, our family uses that phrase all the time.