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Five minutes ago.

If you had walked into my house five minutes ago this is the scene you would have stumbled upon:

Someone, perhaps a small child, is wailing in the other room. I am panting, sweating out of breath, red in the face. Blood streaming down my leg. Black soot all over the right side of my body. Scott is in another room yelling to someone in broken Spanglish, WHAT IF IT’S CANCER CAUSING?! AND THE CARPET IS RUINED! I am holding the dog in a death grip and he is barking his head off and trying desperately to get down and attack the workmen. The sound of an 80 year old plaster cast mantle piece is shattering. And I’m yelling to Tempel, I DON’T GIVE A SHIT! And Tempel is yelling back, BUT SHE’LL DIE! SHE SAID SHE WOULD BE ON THIS HUNGER STRIKE FOR THE REST OF HER LIFE! YOU CAN’T LET MY SISTER DIE!

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