“chuffed doesnt mean what you think it means”
it means exactly what i think it means its just some stupid word that literally has two definitions that mean the opposite thing
This makes me really chuffed.
This post is quite egregious
Well I’m nonplussed by this whole post.
Hey, adults of the world
How about instead of making kids terrified to ever fuck up
You teach them how to cope with the aftermath of fucking up and fix it as best they can
That way they’re not so overwhelmed with anxiety every time there’s even so much as a chance of making mistakes that they never try anything and dread making decisions because of it
why couldn’t i be born with an older brother who is my best friend and has hot friends that flirt with me and drives me places like mcdonalds when im sad and punches rude boys in the face for me.
My brother once sat on me and farted until I passed out
my brother duct taped me to a treadmill and turned it to the highest setting once
when I was four my brother locked me in a ferret cage for an hour on Christmas Eve
My brother handcuffed my ankle to a bar on the playground for an hour while he and his friends went to play without me.
I don’t know why I’m doing this. I don’t post personal shit very often. I guess I just need to vent. I already know this is going to be fucking long. Read it or not, I don’t really care.
My uncle and I never had the closest of relationships. We fought sometimes, and there were even some times when I really didn’t like him. He could be an asshole. He drank way too much and he took too many pills, some of them that weren’t even meant for him. He admitted more than once that he tried to push his family away and make everyone hate him.
But it never worked, because he was our family. He was my uncle and I love him no matter how big of a douche he tried to be.
He gave me some of the best advice. He cared about me and he supported me in the crazy-ass decisions I made throughout my life. When I was pregnant, he was one of the very few who actually supported me 100%, no matter if I decided to keep my daughter or give her up for adoption. Others said they did, but it was clear they had already made the choice for me when they’d quietly push me for that decision. My uncle never pushed. He merely told me to ignore everyone of those pushers and make the decision that was best for me. I listened to him, and I’m glad I did. I’m still glad I’m a mom even if my kid is a pain in the ass.
I knew I’d do this. I’m rambling like a crazy person.
My uncle was the only person to support me when I ran away. Granted, it was a stupid, selfish thing to do, but he supported me. He was the only one in my family to tell me that it was my decision to go away and that he was still my friend. He believed that if you want something, you ask yourself what’s the worst that could happen if you do or get this thing you want. Think of the worst thing that could happen, and then ask yourself if you could live with those consequences. If the answer was yes, then why not? I’m not sure if that’s the best advice ever, but it’s totally right.
He tried for so long to get me to listen to Coheed and Cambria. He says two years, but I think it was more like one. He’d tell me about his new favorite song or a weird video he’d think I’d like. I don’t know why I avoided it for so long. I’d say yeah that sounds cool but never actually looked them up when I got home.
It was my birthday last year, when I turned 28, that I finally gave them a listen. Of course I fell in love. The next time I saw him, I gave him a sheepish smile and said he’d been right all that time. He was so happy to share everything Coheed with me. I borrowed all of their CDs and the book and loved all of it. He gave me a digital copy of all the comic books.
He’s never seen them in concert. Well, I take that back. He saw them when they were opening for a band, but they were late so he saw maybe one song live. When they announced their new Neverender tour, I jumped on the opportunity to get tickets. I got one for him, too. He was so excited.
Life was going so good for him, too. He was happy to have my grandma moving out there closer to him. He said it was his turn to take care of her. She’s in a nursing home, mostly paralyzed, so someone’s got to be close to help her. I’ll be moving out that way next week, so I guess it’ll be my turn now instead of his.
He was going to be a grandpa. He has three kids, but his older two won’t be having any kids any time soon. He always said he’d have to wait for the youngest. And lo and behold, the youngest will be having a baby with his girlfriend. My uncle was so excited. He would have been a great grampa.
He was trying to get well. He still drank too much and took too many pills, but at least they were meant for him. I guess that really doesn’t make it any better. But he was trying to stop drinking. He was going to his doctor regularly and getting counseling for his depression. He was going to be okay.
His stomach started hurting a week before, I think they said. He’d had ulcers and I guess he thought it was just that acting up. Friday he got medicine to help the pain. Friday night he went to hospital. It was pancreatitis.
I don’t know much about pancreatitis. The doctor said it’s about the worst disease anyone could get. It was most likely caused from all his drinking. The doctor said he’d have to detox and wait for the swelling in his pancreas to go down, about three days.
Later Friday night his organs started shutting down. They put him in the ICU and got him stabilized. They said a week, maybe two in the ICU then recovery time.
Saturday morning we were all relieved that he’d made it through the night. It was a good sign, we all said. It meant he was going to be okay.
I held his hand when I went to see him Saturday afternoon. I begged him to squeeze it back. I told him he needed to wake up because my daughter wanted some fish (he would always have Swedish fish and give some to her. He said it was the only reason the kids liked him. Of course that wasn’t true). I begged him to wake up because he needed to go to the concert with me. It’s only two weeks away. I knew after talking to the dr that he wouldn’t be able to go, but if he could at least stay alive so I could tell him all about it afterward. He had too much to look forward to!
Saturday evening the doctors said he was too far gone. Machines were keeping him alive, but he was never going to be awake again. I don’t know who made the decision, but we all knew he would have hated that. It was decided that he wouldn’t be forced to stay. At 7:00pm on Saturday, with his family around him, they unhooked the machines.
I still don’t know how to say goodbye. He was closing in 50, but not there yet. My dad says it’s a reminder to us all that we never know what is going to happen. I tell myself that he’s right, that it is what it is, but I have such a hard time swallowing that. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to have a chance to decide that he wanted to live and make some changes to his lifestyle. He was supposed to be able to enjoy being a grampa and know the frustration of being called every day by my grandma for some small thing or another. He and I were supposed to have sporadic dinner nights since I was going to be living closer to him.
I don’t think it’s really hit me yet. I say all this, but then in the back of my mind I think it’s not real. My uncle is not dead. He’s still going to get better.