Wednesday, Aug. 03, 2005 - 11:29 p.m.
Today my mom called to tell me about my grandfather's test results (even though she'd just had my sister call and tell me).
His cancer is a slow growing form. And because it is on the outside of his lung, there is a chance it is operable if some other tests show that his oxygen levels are high enough and he's fit enough or something. So, more tests, but somewhat good news.
As soon as I got off the phone with her, a coworker was standing at my desk looking kind of serious. "Have you seen your car," he says.
"What do you mean," says I, thinking he is trying to play a trick on me.
But when a second person came over and was like, "it's your car that has the Tennessee plates right?" I knew something was up.
What was up was this. My back window was shattered. There was a hole on each side and the rest of it was a latticework of glass.
Some people thought it might be gravel that was kicked up, some people thought it was a vandle, others believed that it had to do with the heat and some build up of pressure in the car. Crack your windows people.
This is how life moves.
