I have, the last week or so, become almost obsessively aware of my own mortality.

Mom wants me to wait and have my surgery the first week of April. She has time off work then, and can come down and help me. And, no. I love Mom, I really do, and I know she loves me and wants to help, and I know she's worried about this operation (although I'm not sure why she's as worried as she seems to be) and she's welcome in my home any time, but she's not welcome to clean it. And she's not welcome to make comments about it. And there's not going to be a lot for her to do, and she'll get bored, and clean even after I've explicitly told her no. And besides, I don't want to wait that long because my hand is numb!

Bleh.

I'm sorry. I had to be honest. It was far better to piss you off now than to let down your entire group, and I knew it would make you mad, and I know it has broader implications, and I really am sorry, but that's not who I am.

I love cellos, and these two are incredible