Bee's picture

romance, sunshine, and cream tarts

Tue, 02/14/2012 - 02:04 -- Bee

Observation: Lisbon has more drug dealers per capita than any place I've ever been. Also, boy scouts.

The dealers are shocking because nobody has ever offered to sell me drugs, let alone six strangers on any given public square.

The boy scouts? Well, I kind of thought they were extinct. Or at least, elsewhere in the world the older ones refrain from going out in public with the hats on.

Bee's picture

the right wrong thing

Fri, 02/10/2012 - 02:02 -- Bee

The surgeon wanted to make a standing date for more super annoying cancer treatments every Friday for the rest of the month.

I went "Uh. . . no."

He was surprised - who turns down such exciting offers?

I shrugged. "I'll be out of the country."

The plan was even (to my not so secret delight) a direct challenge to the whole notion of cancer, because I jetted away toward that dazzling forbidden treat: sunlight.

Cambria at Thirteen by Jan Richman

I have always felt secretly selfish about my own compassion for others. My instant tearing at someone else's loss, or sadness, or agonizing over something to do with family; anyone's family. It's not that I feel for them, but that I feel. It is a personal fear that sets in: It could be me; it could be my daughter who is lost forever, my little boy who has disappeared, my heart that is broken. People call me a 'bleeding heart.' I feel that I am fooling the world.

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