Monday, December 12, 2005

My song is love unknown

When I was very small, I told myself 20 was going to be the best year of my life. Here's to hoping I was right.
Yet it seems like it hasn't gotten off to that great of a start: I'm not The D.O.'s next managing editor. I know Copy is my niche, but I can't stay there forever, nor do I want to. After awhile, being the person who takes the brunt of criticism for errors in the paper gets a little tiring.
Also, my grandfather's dying. Well, he's been dying for years now, but this time it's for real. He has pneumonia, and it's up to whether he should have a feeding tube or not. It's like a Terry Schiavo situation. I don't want him to suffer and neither do my parents. They've basically signed off that it's OK if he declines the feeding tube, meaning that in a matter of a week or so, he'd die. I wasn't that close to my grandpa, but naturally that doesn't make me feel too wonderful knowing that he's probably going to die.
According to two credible female sources, Scott's got something "cute" planned tonight. I'm hoping that will bring me out of my birthday blues.


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