Dear Kath,

If you were here to talk to, that is what I would be doing right now, so that is what I am doing, anyway.

It has been a long fucking week, girl. And, given that I am dealing with the asshole-riddled medical bureacracy you had to deal with far longer and in worse circumstances, I feel a deepened empathy for all of the unnecessary bullshit you had to deal with just to live. And I know you would be helpful as fuck right now, if I could blurt it all out to you, and pick your brain.

Every fucking day is a new opportunity to be grateful to have had you in my life, and a new opportunity to miss you like hell.

This is pretty unlikely to develop into anything deep or profound. I am frustrated as hell. I am not in a good head space to make anything. All my energy is being eaten by bullshit. But I have to keep wasting it on the bullshit, lest it swallow me like a turdy whale.

That was my awesomely half-assed scatological biblical metaphor.

Yeah. That is my level of creativity right now. I can’t even make a shit-joke funny.

Wah, and other whiny sounds.

But fuck it, bitch, I am still making my incredibly lame attempts, because better that than nothing. One day, my turd-aphors will be laughable. In the positive sense of laughable. Humorous, not pathetic.

Hashtag LifeGoals and whatnot.

Goddamn, I miss you. You would have made me laugh at my own shitty joke. Pun definitely intended.

I love you and miss you, bitch. If you are guardian-angeling today, well, whatever you can see from your better vantage point will be most rapidly helpful, please.

Love,

Lisa

p.s. I can’t place when or where, but I can so clearly picture you laughing so hard you were tearing up. Which is the kind of memory “bittersweet” was invented to describe. I am so glad I can remember you laughing that hard. And that you had those moments. And I so wish I could make you laugh like that, and laugh with you, because your laughter was as irresistably contagious to me as your tears, again.