I've wanted for some years to follow my Aunt Betty's hippy-years example and live in a bus.
When we last visited her -- when I was in middle school -- I returned home having decided to put my boxspring and mattress flat on the ground rather than on a bedframe, like Aunt Betty, which I did.
Aunt Betty and her husband Bruce were in a serious car accident earlier this week, cracking the vertebrae in her neck and possibly complicating his recent liver transplant, and as I heard the details over the phone, I found myself violently, aggressively indifferent, even hostile toward having to listen and know about it. I still feel that way.
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