Hobocamp

Friday, April 06, 2007

Today is a special long-distance ISYA. And while I didn't actually SEE it, I bore witness to it over the phone, and I wanted to draw it, so here goes it.

The other day I was at work, shopping online and faxing personal health information of celebrities to gossip blogs, when I was struck with a feeling of unease. It was so weird. For a second, I thought perhaps I was going to barf or shit my pants or something, because I was instantly so uncomfortable. When I realized that no immediate diuretic was in site for me (so long, skinny jeans), I became vaguely panicked because I just had this overwhelming sense that something was WRONG, somewhere. I called my mom first. She's been living with my uncle in Ohio for the past few months because he's been battling cancer, and as he's gotten sicker and sicker, he's become more and more unable to live independently. My mom and my uncle (who has the same name as a famous retarded person in television history- guess who!) are very close, just like my brother and me, so while it has been hard for her to see him so ill, I also know that she wouldn't have wanted anyone else to care for him in his time of need.

I chatted with her for a few minutes, and she assured me that everyone was A-OK in her neck of the woods. Apparently she reading Reader's Digest and my uncle was out for a walk (the chemo makes him tired but really restless, so he likes to take little jaunts sometimes).

I called the Suzer next, as I would be lost without her, and she said she was "making good choices and everything is fine." Sounds like someone is up to some shit if you ask me, but I figured I'd deal with that later.

I called Sassy to ask if the house was on fire and to make sure he'd check the burners and everything before he left for work. He was remarkably pleasant and amenable, considering I'd woken him up.

I still had Shmifter, Dawg, and most of Chicago to call, but I had to leave my office for a meeting. Against my better judgment, I headed downstairs for what was supposed to be a one hour meeting but somehow ended up as two LOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNGGG hours of circular reasoning during which I drew pictures of what I'd look like if I were a tree and I had a bird nesting in my branches-hair. FYI. I would look hot and earthy.

Anyway.

I got back from my meeting, and my coworkers said "Your mom has called. Twice. You should call her back."

I rushed to my office, panicked. I knew it. I fucking KNEW something was wrong. I dialed my mom's cell and she picked up on the first ring.

"It was Corky," she said. (Did you guess it? My uncle's name is Corky. Like in Life Goes On. Corky!) "You had that bad feeling because of him."

"What happened?"

"He got mugged. He was actually getting mugged while we were on the phone. The police are here now."

"WHAT the FUCK??"

"Oh, Meg. Language. He's okay."

"Who mugs the guy with cancer? Who DOES that? They're going straight to hell."

Just to explain, my uncle is not one who does cancer sportily. Remember when Lance Armstrong gave Sheryl Crow cancer, and she still looked like this?

My uncle doesn't. He's had the works- chemo, radiation, surgery- so he looks busted. His spirit is in great shape, but he has lost his hair, his skin has that pallor that ill people get sometimes, he has patchy burns on his neck and chest from radiation, and he has a very obvious tube in his stomach. In short, he looks like a guy who is fighting for his life. And he is! He's a champ. I am in awe of him every day. BUT. My point to all this was that most people can tell he is sick. And some fucker decided to mug him.

Fortunately, he wasn't seriously hurt. The Asshole In Question "roughed him up a bit," he said. And he took the three dollars my uncle had tucked in to his pocket for the coffee. "Don't worry," he assured me. "I gave them the cancer dollars! That bastard can kiss his esophagus goodbye!"

All in all, I should be grateful that my uncle is okay. He certainly doesn't seem too ruffled by the whole thing. He was more upset when his doctors told him he'd have to postpone his golf trip until he'd finished chemo. And if HE isn't going to be all resentful and angry, I guess I don't get to be.

But that canNOT stop me from proclaiming to my uncle's mugger "I SAW YOU (SORT OF), ASSHOLE!"

Please take a careful look at the artistic re-enactment of the crime, below. I don't want this to happen to you or your loved ones.

Have a good weekend, friends.

Labels: family, ISYA

posted by A Lover and a Fighter at 7:46 AM -

8 Comments:

At 9:16 AM, jamelah said…

1. Yes, you would look hot and earthy.

2. I'm sorry that your uncle got mugged, but am glad he didn't get seriously hurt.

3. I'm also glad that he didn't get mugged by a suddenly-undead Abe Lincoln. That would just be bizarre. But, thinking about it, I bet a suddenly-undead Abe Lincoln would think he really scored big with $3, inflation being what it is, and all.
At 4:57 PM, kelsi said…

that's some crazy witchy sixth sense that you've got. i'm in awe (and a little scared. please don't blow us up with your mind.)
At 8:37 AM, Hex said…

Feel free to blow up Sheryl Crow though. That would be pretty cool.
At 9:24 AM, Doug - Rachel's dad said…

Sixth sense? That's more like a seventh or eighth sense if you ask me. While your flair for dramatizing Corky's plight is exceeded only by your artistic ability, you're way hotter than Sheryl Crow, earth mom. EMILF! (that's funny not crude)
At 9:39 AM, A Lover and a Fighter said…

J- Yeah, I wasn't trying to make him look like Abe Lincoln. I was trying to give him a bad-guy hat. But that turned into a stovepipe hat. Not one to muck about with perfection, I left it.

K- Not to be dramatic, but it runs in my family (just the gals, the men are clueless). I've been doing that since I was little. That's why I always believe myself when I have those weird feelings.

H- I don't believe in blowing anyone up, but I wouldn't mind making her sit and listen to her own music for a bit.

DRD- I still don't know who you are, but I'm enjoying you more and more.
At 12:42 PM, Colleen said…

Oh man. That's depressing. But tell Cork to just get into heroin, because why not?
At 12:35 PM, Hex said…

It's Friday and I don't see any new ISYA (which I guess technically would be IDSAISYA).

What gives?
At 3:10 AM, crystalmeth...od said…

well, I -was- going to respond to you hex with a
'she was waiting for you to post, a-hole. now we's got focus, cause you couldn't hold on to your friggen britches. chill tfo.'

but i will forgive seemingly overbearing post, as i checked out your profile and you like not only the bad brains and the roots and portishead, but also dostoevsky and susie bright.