Bleeding Fiction

As I've said before, and as anyone who's known me for a while can probably attest to, my parents are just fucking insane. Today I received further proof.

I checked my mail and found an envelope from my parents. Inside said envelope was a note and a newspaper clipping. The note read "don't go mountain climbing." The newspaper clipping was titled "American climber dies on Mt. Everest."

My parents usually have some logic underlying their insanity, no matter how twisted it might be, so I figured I'd read the article to see if I could find it. And there it was, plain as day, the first word in paragraph two: "Seattle." The dead American climber was from Seattle.

In a way I suppose it's flattering, and not just for the concern. I mean to say that my parents clearly think I lead a tremendously interesting life; the sort of life that would prompt me to head off to the highest peak in the world (or some other mountain, I guess) and climb it over, say, the course of a weekend. I laugh, but that's the sort of crazy I can appreciate.