il est belge.

so, my lymph nodes are swollen on the left side up my neck and near my ear and jaw and collarbone. i should be freaking out right now, but i'm abnormally calm and resisting every effort in googling 'out of remission?' and 'lymphoma'. people have spreading around germies at work so i kinda hope that i have the flu or some really crappy cold and not the other thing. unless it gets worse, i'm not making a doctor's appointment. why? because if it is the other thing, i'd like to have a couple weeks without testing and waiting, testing and waiting. that sounds pretty selfish of me, and it is. i can't really explain it without sounding like a spoiled kid. cross your fingers for a cold, okay? i think it's a cold anyways!

i've never really been consistently pro-active about my health, but i've always been pro-active about my dad's health. seriously. i buy all these foods to trick my dad into eating better. i make him go to the doctor when he's sick or evenwhen he's not for check ups. i'm always trying to get him to go to NIH for those sleep apnea tests because i swear he has that condition. i make him take vitamins. when i was in middle school, he was home and my grandmother told me he was very, very sick. i went upstairs, and my dad was in fetal position puking his guts out over the side of the bed. i totally freaked out and started crying and told him i was driving him to the hospital. my mom ended up taking him....like eight hours later, and he ended up having major surgery. my aunt took me to visit him, and i ended up sobbing so loudly and so badly that she had to take me outside. i get kind of sensitive when i talk about my dad.

i probably get my storytelling abilities from him. he spent most of his life traveling far away from here, even when i was younger. he would bring back all sorts of weirdness (and candy) from his trips. i was a budding philatist as a kid so i have stamps from every country he visited, most from postcards he used to send. he also brought his camera, which i think was pretty advanced for the time. so, i was able to see all the pigeons on my dad's arms in venice (literally hundreds), basque country platters of food (for which i am very jealous), his little hotel room in china with take-out chicken feet on the table, the costumes (and insanity) of rio carinval, and belgium, belgium, belgium. my dad loves beligium. he hasn't been there in years, but he still talks about it like he just left and is about to go back. the people are nice, he says. the food is so delicious, but he can make it at home, he says. i crossed that bridge before, he says. il est belge.

actually, i probably also got my nomadic nature from him because if anyone's trips had an impact on me, they were those of my dad.

now, we're both stuck with jobs that imprison us in one area. haha. i shouldn't say that. i think dad is content to only work until 230 and get every single international relations question right on jeopardy. he's watches anthony bourdain and says 'i've been there.' it's kinda annoying, but i'm glad that he's proud.

i have no idea how to end this post. i could probably talk about my dad and his adventures for a long time. god knows i have all the stories.

well, that's it. i'm done! i want pancakes so i'm leaving!