Sunday 24; January, 1999

I rang the Moonlight Lounge this morning (well, 2pm) for a chat, but someone was on the phone, so I left a message for either of my sisters to call me back. Then Simon and I went out to the Warehouse and to look at double beds (that sounds so much dodgier than it really is – the bed is for me, and not for him). When I got back there was a message for me on the answerphone from Anji. She mentioned in passing that Karen’s in hospital, but it’s nothing serious. Nothing serious? It’s always serious for Karen. Statisitically speaking, most people with Cystic Fibrosis are dead by the time they turn 21. Karen is 23. Last time I talked to her she mentioned that she was sick – but I thought it was like a cold or something. She HATES doctors and hospitals, so I can’t understand how she’d let herself be in hospital. She’s stopped taking most of her pills. I want to know what the fuck is going on, but I don’t want to call my parents. They’ll probably worry more than nessecary or something. I dunno – I don’t wanna call them, so I just wish Anji was home so I could find out what the deal is.

I’m so scared, I don’t want to lose her. I should be back in Wellington. This sucks. I don’t know what to do. It’s got to be serious if she’s in hospital. This isn’t Tonsilitus.

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