Little fucker, I love him already. And feet.

Two posts in one day, but it's been a while since we have had conversations with grandma.

She starts chemo the beginning of August. Now, let me preface this with the fact that she had leukemia for the better part of a decade. It is essentially so slow-growing that they chose not to treat it and, in fact, estimate that she has had it far longer than a decade. She was diagnosed, the day of my sister's rehearsal dinner no less, with Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. There were a lot of tears and everyone is scared. But, the doctors have essentially said that, unlike the leukemia, this has to be treated.

Having said all that, I realize this is serious. I love my grandmother dearly, no matter how crazy she is. I, in fact, inherited said crazy and embrace it with everything I am. But, this conversation? It had to be shared.

Erratic: So, when do you start chemo?

Grandma: Sometime in August. They say I have to do it. Or I'll die. I don't think I can afford it, so I figure I will just die.

Erratic: Grandma, seriously, that is ridiculous. Don't think about money. That is the stupidest thing you have ever said. This family has enough money to pay your copays.

Grandma: Well, that's true. What happens if I shit myself? If I shit myself, promise you will make them send me to a home.

Erratic: Nobody is sending you to a home and nobody is shitting themselves.

Grandma: I'm just saying. I talked to my sister today. She is bat shit crazy.

Erratic: Well, yeah.

Grandma: I mean, everything is about her and how her feet fucking hurt. My feet hurt to, you know. Did you know my feet hurt?

Erratic: Yeah.

Grandma: Well, they do. But, nobody cares about my feet. It's all about HER feet. And that loser of a son of hers who won't get a job. You have a job. And you're in school. But, he's too good for a job.

Erratic: I mean, the economy...

Grandma: Oh, don't defend that crazy family with all their feet and joblessness. I don't have the time. How is that kitty of yours?

Erratic: He's good, rotten, but good.

Grandma: Well, that's good. I've got to go. So You Think You Can Dance is on and I am rooting for that little shit from Ohio for you, honey.

Erratic: Um, thanks? Love you.

Grandma: Love you too. Send pictures!

Of what? I don't know. I sent pictures of the cat, thinking that is what she meant, to which she responded, "He looks rotten. Little fucker, I love him already."

The crazy runs deep, my friends. Very, very deep.