I am not caught up on Under the Dome, but those characters are so earth-shatteringly stupid.

Spoiler: They do not get less stupid.

Homeland, Bean Trees and Animal Dreams spoke of a world that was my native soup. I recognized the world of my first 18 years. I liked Poisonwood, but it lacked the instant recognition, obviously (not a missionary child here.)

I will always have a soft spot for writers of my southwest who can echo the smell of rain on the desert, the quiet stubborn poverty, the odd mix of culture and foods, the dust, the stunning stark horizons.

NM smelled so fucking good to me while I was there. I miss it. I don't fit in there anymore, Baltimore suits me best, but I miss it. It smells right, it looks right, the sun on my shoulders and the coolness at starlight upon the same feels right. But it isn't where I can live my days.

The stupid. It domes.

This bed might literally be the most uncomfortable thing I've ever slept on. I only know it's supposed to be a mattress because it's rectangular and covered in sheets. In all other aspects, it might as well be a rock.

My neck hurts, and the pain seems to have shifted from my right side to my left, and I am out of motrin. It's at the base of my skull. At least it's not as bad as the last time I somehow managed to do this to myself, where I had to cancel vacation because I didn't trust myself to drive safely because I couldn't turn my head left to check for traffic. But, jesus.

Is the effectiveness of ibuprophen proof that it's muscular in origin, and not some fucked up spinal issue? This last incident came on after the chiropractor, who, until now, I have never feared.

Mom just made an incredibly generous offer to me out of sibling fairness (my brother and SIL are house-thinking.) I'm like...I love the gesture, but not necessary. Give it to the boys college fund. Josh and I will be settling and benefiting from the estate eventually. I don't need it now. He does. They've been there when we needed it, appropriate to individual need, I'm not keeping a scorecard of who got what. They've been able to help each of us out to our need-base when warranted. I'm good now. I just told her that before the last of them croaked, they better make sure that I get bonus for being the goddamn executor, because I hate paperwork. Or at least hire someone for me!

I will always have a soft spot for writers of my southwest who can echo the smell of rain on the desert, the quiet stubborn poverty, the odd mix of culture and foods, the dust, the stunning stark horizons.

Describe the smell of desert rain and earn +50 in writer points from me. Describe it well for +250.

Puppycat wants to aggressively snuggle my phone. Pretty sure she doesn't know I am currently in a couple of text conversations. This will be fun. Or painful if her claws have sharpened.

I'm not keeping a scorecard of who got what.

A lot of people do though. People you would NOT expect to be so ... petty? Or be scrupulously fair, if I am being generous.

It was nice of them to offer. It's even nicer that you care about others.

Thanks all for the vibes, prayers, and warm wishes. Today was a bit better, and if all goes well chemo will begin tomorrow or the next day. No idea when she'll be discharged, but for now that makes it a stress we don't have to face yet.

can some other family help relieve some of your and your husband's stress? I know it can't be easy and you've been dealing with a lot.

My other sister has been down as many weekends as she can manage, and L's friends have been there for her as well. So yes, others are helping to shoulder the burden.

I'm not keeping a scorecard of who got what

Whatever my parent's will is, it's the same as when we were all kids, for me. Lil'bro would demand everything, and when asked if I wanted something, I'd say no, to make up for lil'bro. It stands now. Lil'bro is the executor. And if it ends up that I get less, or nothing, then that's what it is. And if I need a hand one day, and I hope I don't need to, then I'll ask if he is able to help. But I do fear for him, because he hasn't actually stepped out of the nest, and isn't working a job that could sustain a house, or has the life style to maintain a house (still lots of parties and out all hours). It pains me that our parents deaths will be what forces him to grow up, even though I know he can't bring himself to leave because he fears for our mother's health in the care of our absent-minded father (having trouble walking? Here, let me tug you).

Now, if it were older bro, there'd be issues, because he'd shoot that inheritance into his veins so fast you'd be wondering where Halloween went.

I still can't believe K is marrying him. She's delusional and damaged in the brainpan, because he's still fucked up and drunk all hours.

I'm sorry about the need for palliative chemo, Burrell, but I'm glad you have some family there to help.

I'm not keeping a scorecard of who got what

My sister's eight years older than I, and in between when she was a teenager and when I was, my parents' income nosedived. They wanted to be scrupulously fair, but there were things that they couldn't swing. Still, they managed to cover my undergrad college costs, and they were very fair with distribution in their wills (I guess as Dad's executor, and his "sell everything and split it" will, if it wasn't fair that's on me). It's kinda funny to see how it plays out in our politics and religious perspectives.