....LMB: "Dark Clouds Keep on Turnin'"....

April 25, 2004

Jake's soap opera life is still in full effect. I'd really like this shit to stop.

Well, we can go to the good news first. The fellow who stole my car took a plea bargain on Friday, so that case is closed. I didn't hear the final sentence, but as part of the settlement, he had to pay me $100 (a too-low number I gave the city attorney for the value of my stolen CDs). And that check already arrived yesterday. Guess I don’t care about the guy's punishment. I've been remarkably laid back about this whole care theft thing, even for me. I wonder what that says about me.

In other positive news, my apartment building has been declared "substandard" by the city. This means that my asshole landlords will likely face massive fines, and unless they can get the place up to code in the next 5 weeks (which seems ... improbable), me and all the other tenants will be eligible for reduced rent rates.

But apart from that, things aren't so good.

The insurance company has declared my damaged car "a total loss", which is apparently insurance-ese for "it's cheaper for us to cut you a check for a lowball estimate of your car's worth than to actually pay to repair your car." Not sure what to do there, lotta options involving full or partial repairs or buying something new with the pittance they give me. Either way, I'm carless in LA for days or weeks to come. Damn good thing I don't need to commute to work.

Most of the rest of my week's sorrow is more about other people's problems, people I care about a great deal.

One friend of mine, who I’ll call "Sally", revealed to me this week that doctors misdiagnosed a health problem of hers two years ago, but they have now discovered that her malady is actually lung cancer. She's 28 fucking years old.

"Sally" called me Tuesday, said in a sad cheerful voice, "I'm in the hospital. Wanna visit me?" It was a one-day thing, she'd come down with pneumonia as a complication of the disease, "Sally" would be going home by nightfall. I of course went over and sat bedside for a little while.

She asked if I would come with her to some of her future chemotherapy treatments. I agreed, but fuck, that is gonna be hard. My mother died of cancer in December. I spent countless hours with her at the oncologist's office over the years, while the chemo dripped into her arm.

"Alright, I'll go with you. But no Scrabble," I joked. Mom and I had nearly always played Scrabble during her treatments. It's a boring game, and I'd almost always lose, but Mom enjoyed it.

Worst joke backfire of my life. I laughed for a couple seconds, but was then flooded with all those Mom-chemo-Scrabble memories and just broke down into sobs, overcome. "Sally" got off the bed, came over and hugged me tight. "I don't want to leave you either," she said. But I wasn't crying for "Sally." For some reason, I'm optimistic that she's going to be okay. I was crying for what I’ve already lost. Just pure grief. How stupid and complex and awkward. "Sally" needs me to comfort her and support her through her illness, but my own head isn't screwed on completely straight these days. And all the things I might do that could help her out, might unscrew me further. Still, you gotta do what you gotta do.

But "Sally" agreed, no Scrabble. She said we'll watch DVDs instead.

On top of that, I've got another friend who it seems is headed for a train wreck. I'm really scared for them, but there's nothing I can do.

Happily, the week ended on a better note: good friends, Kill Bill 2, and yellow cake (the kind with eggs and milk and no uranium).

Things have got to start getting better. They just have to.