"Irritable Vowel Syndrome"

Not much going on here. There was (yet another) crane collapse in NYC, and Audrey called and left a voicemail at my home and on my cell, all in a tizzy about whether the Maharajah was anywhere's near there. Whatever. She can't be bothered in 14 years to learn how to spell his name (a whopping six letters long) or find out (and remember) when his birthday is, SURRRRRE she gives a shit about this crane situation. Also? Manhattan is a big expanse of territory (33.77 square miles, to be precise). So, no. I wasn't in a rush to call her back.

She did manage to call me on Saturday (2/13), and I answered because (HELLO! Her phone is still fucked up for incoming calls). Her declaration, "I miss you," was kinda left dangling out there in mid-air, unacknowledged and unreplied to--kind of like a flaccid wiener: UNWANTED.  Meh. Whatever. I didn't take the bait for that, either.

I took the wind out of her sails with the only little tidbit of news she presented me with, news I already knew of: That my great-aunt E., is having a relapse of the breast cancer she battled 22 years ago. I wonder what she has to say or think about the fact I knew this for 7-10 days long before she (and her sister) were aware. My attitude is, it's not my news to share. And Aunt E., is a stoic, so really, no. Not my news to share. AT ALL.

And the mind drifts to a statement my brother always says, "She opens her mouth, and nothing but stupid falls out."  True, true. But if my brother were to bother to acknowledge the texts I send him, I'd send him one with today's neuron that fired: "She suffers from Irritable VOWEL Syndrome."