Sorry

Oh that’s right, I was supposed to be blogging. I’m sorry.

Hey were you and I supposed to meet? Dang. Sorry.

I was cooking? I don’t even remember that. It’s pizza delivery tonight, kids. I’m sorry.

Dad, that’s right, I was going to call you back. I’m sorry.

No matter what it is we were supposed to do? I gotta cancel. I’m sorry.

I’ll be with you in a moment - sorry.

No, no I haven’t finished that yet. I’m sorry. I’m going to have to get back with you. Sorry.

Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

If you are one of the people I’ve had to draw through this chain of mumblings over the last month or so, here’s the truth. I really couldn’t be there, and I am sorry, and in fact I’ve been either in radiation or driving to radiation or driving from radiation or in various stages of sleep after radiation. And really - whatever it is that I was supposed to be doing for you or with you, I couldn’t, and even though every Girl Power manual clearly states in all caps and bold font that I shouldn’t be sorry: I’m sorry.