So I kep thinking things are going to get better – maybe they will, but not yet. Mum and Dad’s car was totalled on their way home from a family meeting on friday night, they are ok, but Noddy, their faithful Mazada 121 will never ride again.

And my brother seems so stressed about what is going on in his life that he isn’t noticing how horrible he is being to me. Today we got asked to quote for 52 machines, because of my hard work. And I wasn’t asked to do the quote. This on top of being completely ignored on the big tender that “we” did last week. I’m asked to do free weekend work, but I get abused for asking for a few hours off to take my bunny to the vet. Rhubarb needs to have some more tests to see if he has any other signs of cancer. The sooner the better. If we find cancer, we have some hope of fighting it, at least putting it into remission for a few years. Without a diagnosis, we’re back to what happened to Fuzz Bucket. Dead before her second birthday, within one month of learning she had cancer.

And I am left feeling like a whinger. Like I should be tougher. I should be more considerate, more thoughtful. When all I can think about is crawling into bed, face first, and screaming into my pillow.

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