I love my roommates. Two of them are boys I've known for years. Roommate #1 was showing me pictures of Roommate #2 a couple weeks before #2 arrived. "And here," he said, showing me a picture of our friend with a bald head, "is a picture of #2 when he had cancer, just like you had cancer!" #2 never had cancer; it was a joke, and surprisingly it felt pretty good to joke about cancer. It is dark, and sick, and completely refreshing. I feel slight guilt in the political incorrectness of it all, but not enough to stop. Call it a coping mechanism.