Saturday, November 29, 2003

My mom does coffee with the angel of death

All hail the "Supreme Pessimista!" Bow down to her, resistance is only met with a heavier arsenal. All attempts to protect oneself from the avalanche of depressing news will be thwarted by dismissive "mmm..."s and "yes, well as I was saying..."s and "so anyway..."s. Or worse, a defensive, "Well I just thought you should know!"

How can so many terrible things happen to people she knows over the course of a single week? How can my mom know it all? My mother, I've realized, is a dark humourist, my dark humour muse. I have a feeling a disproportionate number of entries in this journal will be about that. Please bear with me on that, I'm coping.

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