Y’know… it was only 3° Celsius (or 37.4° Fahrenheit) and I almost boiled in my woolen jacket. A rather thin woolen jacket. This gives me hope that maybe, maybespring is coming after all. I hate winter and I hate snow. Not to mention cold.
So what’s up? Nothing much, except that my work load shows no signs of disappearing anytime soon. University is nice like that. And I ought to be applying for a summer job (because there is no way my parents will let their very much adult daughter spend her summer just lounging around and doing absolutely nothing. Not that I would. I would be bored out of my wits). I have already sent one application to one place and will send another one sometime soon, while trying desperately to figure out where else I should be applying. I would actually like a job in a fast food place. But cleaning? No way.
And I applied for an exchange year (well, semester). If everything goes well, I’ll be spending next autumn semester either in Germany, the Netherlands or Czech Republic. Eh, we’ll see. I should be hearing from the people in the international office sometime during this month.
Also… something not-so-cheery. I’m not entirely sure if I want to go around telling this, but… I can’t keep this in my chest for much longer, so I might as well share it with you guys.
A few weeks ago my mother told my brother and I that she was diagnosed with breast cancer.
I don’t know how long she has known, but I imagine it hasn’t been that long. The thing is… I never imagined she would fall ill like that. Not her. I have an aunt (from my father’s side) who has had breast cancer, but that my own mother would be given the same diagnosis? The thought never even crossed my mind. Yesterday, she told me that they’ll be starting chemo soon, possibly even next week, with a surgery following later in spring.
I’m worried. I try not– she told me not to – but I can’t help it. I’m the type to worry about basically everything, big or small. As I write this, I’m fighting against tears because I don’t want her to hear me crying. My parents called my for a second time yesterday evening (we usually speak once a day when I’m away) because my father was worried I might be worrying here on my own. He might have heard something in my voice when we spoke earlier that day (I was holding back tears then as well), or he might just be aware of my tendency to worry. Perhaps both.
Eh, so this is what is going on with me right now. I’m not looking forward to the inevitable phone calls from concerned relatives, or meeting with them, for that matter, especially not my grandmother. I know that when she finds out, she’ll be talking about it endlessly. She means well, but I’m not in a mood to tolerate her questions.
