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March 20, 2012
My mother calls o say that yes, it was cancer in my dad's bladder, but they got rid of it, or so they think, and he should be okay. He must undergo weekly treatments, and, again, he should be okay. "Oh," I say, like a numbskull.

"Oh," says the girl who is often described as eloquent and articulate.

Who embarrasses herself with chronic motor mouth syndrome and wants to put her own hands over her ears to drown out the deluge.

I talk to my dad on the phone. "Ugh," I say. What, is "I love you" so difficult?

Ugh.