Two explosions at the Boston Marathon.
"That sucks," I said to Mom. See? I could be news anchor.
Mom then quietly informed me that THREE OF MY FUCKING COUSINS WERE AT THE MARATHON (one running and two of her kids to cheer her on.) After I got over the shock that anyone in my family had athletic inclinations, I told Mom, "FUCK! GET ON THE PHONE AND FIND OUT IF THEY'RE STILL ALIVE!"
It took a couple hours for my Aunt Margie in Florida to track them down, but they are all okay. Shaken and confused more than usual, but okay. By the way, my Aunt Margie (mother and grandmother to my cousins) rely watches television, so it was up to Mom to act as a pseudo-Mr. Brian Fucking Williams.
THAT'S what kind of fucking stressful week it's been.
Now I'm going to try and fucking relax by watching a show about cannibals. I can wax nostalgic about the good old days when serial killers would murder their victims one at a time.
