It's been an unusual week. 'Unusual' is a bad word to use there, but nothing else fits quite right, either. My boyfriend's mother has a brain tumor. An aggressive brain tumor. A large, aggressive brain tumor. I used to stay up with her sometimes on Monday nights and we'd watch Grey's Anatomy together while we drank tea and talked about nothing in particular. I've been at the hospital with her every day since we found out. It's been hard, to say the least, but time's going to move on whether or not we want it to. So I let it go, and I try my best to accept it. She looks so well, so happy and infinite in that bed. I bent over to pick up something I'd dropped the other day, and she whispered "I feel like Izzy now". I thought I'd heard her wrongly at first, I couldn't quite figure out who Izzy was for a little while. I walked down the corridor and it came to me hard and fast, and I thought about how I'm not about to let her die just like Izzy may have done in that stupid fucking TV programme. I can't help but wish it'd come back so much sooner so that we'd find out if she lives or dies, and fuck, that's so retarded, but my mind is just latching onto that idea, like if Izzy lives, then so does Maria.