So it's possible that ltc really did have a stomach bug and not just the pneumonia because that is what TCG had yesterday, and I suddenly feel like I have a lead weight in the pit of my stomach.

I can maybe talk to my therapist next time about how to coax her to talk about it. I mean, I know I am a little bossy, but with most people (not my mother or Maria) I can frame things so they don't notice my bossy pants. Which I can't do with either of them because they know me too well and sense the bossy ness.

Oh no sj!

Oh no, sj! Good luck.

I don't have any of my own shit together, and I know I should.

My family talks about death all the time. So, I know what they want. We got our will and finances together after ltc was born because it just seemed like the responsible thing to do along with picking a guardian for ltc if anything were to happen to both of us.

Thanks, Sophia and Jesse. We're supposed to be leaving for Mom's after school on Wednesday. My hope is that we're all better and somehow I can get laundry and packing done by then.

And some good work news. My old boss (again) proposed me becoming the assistant director of our Center. The Dean was actually on board, but we can't call it assistant director until I actually earn my master's and probably doctorate and probably become faculty, not staff . So we need some sort of title that is above "Program Coordinator/Admin Assistant) but is not assistant director, because that would cause chaos. And I have nothing. Because in every other school in our University, the faculty overseeing the department are Chairs, and the staff are directors and assistant directors. But in our school, the faculty are directors and the staff are administrators. But they also can't have me be an administrator, because "there is only one". But I basically got to describe my dream job to the associate dean, and she was on board with it- we just have to think of how we word it so I keep my increased pay and salary status, and basically don't piss off the PhD prepared program directors.

My dad is 91 and still has not planned his funeral. He did have us buy the plot next to my mom when we were arranging her funeral, but now says he wants to be cremated and buried in mom's plot.

Having to make all those decisions for my mom while still in shock over her dying was terrible. And so fucking expensive. My mom would have been horrified that her funeral cost so much. The only thing she would have liked were the flowers.

Bev, bwah!

While I hope it's many years off, Ken and I will likely make use of the Recompose facility, with the soil going to the Bainbridge Food Forest if they'll permit dispersal; we have wills and funds set aside. (For anyone who's read Becky Chambers's Wayfarers series, this is the method of body disposition used by the Exodans.) Jim has booked a deluxe cruise on the River of Denial rather than dealing, and I sometimes give my nightguard a workout over it.

Fortunately my folks went to one too many annoying funerals and sent me and my sister explicit instructions re: cremation, no funeral, scatter the ashes, and then have family and friends over for Mexican food at their favorite place. It worked pretty well. The margaritas helped.