That is what my aunt’s husband had and it is a mother fucker of a cancer and not nearly as rare as it used to be.

This part of getting old really fucking blows.

Amen to that. And also fuck cancer.

Rather than going to the big downtown protest today, I went to a smaller one up at Lake Forest Park Town Center, which has the benefit of having plentiful parking nearby and being a stand-and-wave-signs protest rather than a march. This combines to make it easy to leave whenever you want or need to, which is nice when one, say, has a dodgy back. It's the third protest I've been to at the location, and it's a visibly larger crowd every time.

I was chatting with two women standing near me, and one of them kinda squinted at me and said, "You look really familiar. Is your name Susan by any chance?" She looked familiar to me too, so I started listing off possible places/interests we might've met. When I said writing, she said, "That's it!" We figured out that we'd both been members of two different local RWA chapters 10-15 years ago, and she'd attended the Emerald City Writers Conference when I was on the planning committee and had a visible role.

I'm just amazed that anyone could remember the name of someone they didn't know super well and hadn't seen in over a decade. (Her name was Erin, but I never would've remembered it on my own.) And also a bit heartened that I'm still recognizable given that I was a lot younger and a good bit slimmer then!