the moon is down.

Life is collapsing in on itself. Like it does every couple months. It's my (involuntary) routine.

Something--or lots of things--are really good. And then twelve fucked up things happen all at once.

Mom called while I was at the tattoo shop with Eddie. The first sign of bad news: she prefaced the conversation with, "Now, don't freak out . . . "

Gramma Dottie had a heart attack.

Which trumps the plethora of other annoyances I've been dealing with lately. Comparatively, they are nothing but that: annoying. And out the window, for all I care.

Of course, she tried to play it down so I wouldn't lose it; "She's fiiiine. She's in the hospital. It was a minor heart 'episode' (is the word she used first; I know she didn't want to say heart attack to me)."

Can I hibernate now? Please.