I should be asleep. I was talking to Kevin on the phone and he made me get off and go to sleep. Well, he didn’t make me. It’s hard to do that over the phone. But I didn’t exactly need a lot of persuasion. And now I can’t sleep. I’m finally getting that mole on my arm checked out. Tomorrow. Have I ever mentioned that I HATE hospitals? They give me the creeps like nothing else does. Anyway, I suppose I should get to bed now. I shall proceed to do that.
Yeah, right.
Well, I’d be in bed if you would shut up.
So, what’s this about a mole? You mean cancer? Are you going to get chemo? Are you going to die?
They’ll probably just cut it out.
But what if you die?
You will too.
But I don’t want to die!
Neither do I.
Then DON’T!
Stop. Frankly, you’re scaring me.
What if you go bald?
Hopefully, it will grow back.
What if it doesn’t?
What do you mean, what if it doesn’t? The answer seems pretty obvious.
You know what I mean.
Will you stop? You think I want this? You think I want chemo? Or radiation? Or hair loss? You think I want to die? You think I want to stay in a hospital, the one place I absolutely hate? You really think I need your help to worry? You think any of this will happen?
Maybe.
But maybe not. And I don’t need you messing with my head when I’m nervous enough. It’s past your bedtime. Go to sleep.
Goodnight, Bridget. Even though we don’t always get along, I’ll miss you.
Goodnight, Myself. And stop being so pessimistic.
But –
Goodnight.