Gosh, I hate to complain, but here I go. I talked to an acquaintance on the phone today. I haven't spoken to her in at least a year. She went on and on about how she knew exactly how I was feeling because she went through the same thing a few years ago. I beg to differ: she had a biopsy and it was negative. I had a biopsy and it was positive. She had fits of crying and despair. I didn't. The similarity of our experiences went from almost, to not at all. And then she went on to tell me about what happened to other friends of hers. You know what? I think I've said this before but I'll say it again. I'm not interested. If they had happy outcomes, great! If they didn't I don't want to know about it. It just seems like people delight in the, Oh my gosh, how terrible, how horrible, isn't that awful, of people's lives. Frankly, I am more interested in the how wonderful, how exciting, how delightful of life. This doesn't mean I don't acknowledge that there is a lot of grief, despair and unhappiness out there. And poverty and crime and all those awful things. But I don't see how the tragedy of one person's life is going to help me get over my adventure. And I will continue to call it my adventure. Nothing awful has happened. I've met a lot of very nice, very kind, very caring people. And I've become a correspondent with many other kind and compassionate people. But please spare me the sad stories about someone else's cancer that ended in their dying. Don't go there. I'm not listening.