One giant ball of yarn

His only daughter among sons, my dad did spoil me a little. He wanted a traditional daughter. Prom dress. Wedding dress. Grandchildren. Instead dad got black nail polish. Cigarettes. Bukowski. Angst. And then California. It wasn't until dad and I were both much older we finally called a truce and just accepted each other. At the end of the day I'm still kid. Always was. I did as he did. More than that, I saw things as he did with a certain clarity, truthfulness, and eagerness for something... 

More.

That was all dad and I had in common. Only now can I reflect, that was really quite a lot if you think about it. There was a beam of (dare I say) mixed understanding and admiration in dad's eyes. Though he tried to stop me from going down that rabbit hole, he knew I would, just like he once did. The apple not falling far from the tree.

My brothers were more like their mother. I was my father's kid.

I loved my ten speed. I loved that bicycle. Rode it every day there wasn't snow on the ground, and sometimes when there was. Not to sound unappreciative but, that ten speed was the best gift my dad ever gave me when I was a kid. I loved that bike more than anything. Bicycling. Running. Walking. I guess because you can go places cars cannot. Plus I'm a Capricorn. We are most at home outside. Solitary consummate wanderers. If you believe in such things. That bike is my 'Rosebud'.

IN 2013 my OGBYN said it was most likely a tumor. My dad was struggling with Cancer at the time. I didn't want to tell him doctors found a tumor on my ovary. So I didn't tell him. Not right away. My doctor scheduled me for internal/external ultrasounds...

You have to have a full bladder for the external ultrasound. So your bodily organs "float" away from the uterus and ovaries. I can't recall a time I had to pee so bad. 

5 days later I was in another doctor's office where a Thai (or Vietnamese) doctor who looked like she was 12 years old, confirmed it was a tumor, small, 1x1 cm, and then I had to give some tissue samples to yet another doctor to determine if the tumor was cancerous. 

Here's my (repeated) gripe with the medical/insurance world: All these doctors, tests, equipment, medication, and it still wouldn't be more cost effective to snip the tumor? According the doctors there's a good chance more will grow. So it's not like I won't be back...

"Women your age it's not uncommon to get ovarian cysts, or tumors." I believe is how she "delicately" phrased it.

When my dad was diagnosed with a tumor in his throat (years ago dad was a 2+ pack a day smoker for many years) I kept asking about how they performed the biopsy, etc. My dad was a smart guy. He caught on. But he let me tell him when I was ready. He never asked.

Benign.

I don't have cancer. 

Though...

I don't understand why not?

Both my dad and (childhood friend) Rick died within two years of each other. Cancer. Both of them. Dad had a tumor in his lung. Rick had a tumor in his brain. Dad had surgeries. Rick's tumor was inoperable. Both died not long after being diagnosed.

I've been told, by many people, I should be grateful. And every time I hear how "grateful" I should be, I just want to rip all the hair out of my head.

What exactly should I be grateful for? That I lived, while my loved ones died? Is that what I'm supposed to be grateful for?

"Well, if it makes you feel any better..."

It doesn't. 

Why do people think sharing their grief and heartache with me will make me feel "better"? What horrible human being feels "better" after hearing how someone else has suffered?

I'm not a child. I know people die. But no one talks about death as a matter of fact, as a matter of life. We live. We die. I've been touched by death, you could say. Now I want to prepare myself to die, as I live, my way. 

I came home one beautiful sunny afternoon, to my brothers trashing my ten speed. My beloved bike. Without provocation. My brothers just didn't want me to have it anymore. They knew how much I loved that bike. I guess perhaps dad never gave them anything they loved. They felt owed. 

That's always been the under current of my relationship with them. To this day, my brothers still feel owed. Dad is gone. But their shared feeling of entitlement remains.

Last night, I saw on the History Channel, through modern science it was learned that 1 out of every 200 Mongolians (est. population of 2.7 million) Genghis Khan's DNA could be found. The historic murderous Kahn, the man who slay all to build his empire, ironically gave more life than he killed.

"What's that smell?"

It's called sewage. And toxins. And garbage. Human waste. The end result of three-million (plus) residents in Los Angeles, alone. Where do you think it all goes? At the very least, under your feet. People shit and then complain about the smell. 

There's only one Stephen Hawkin. One Elon Musk. One Einstein. One Joseph Bazalgette. The rest of us grossly outnumber the smart people who clean our messes, and make life more interesting. But what happens when they're all gone? 

Zombie Apocalypse!

The human race is in trouble. Irritable Bowel Syndrome? I think is just a new age diagnosis of mild Cholera. 

"Look like me. Act like me." This horribly disheveled homeless man preached to all who could hear him.

Don't worry sir, I believe 95% of the human race are headed in that direction.