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ummmm....

 I wish I could say that I was in a great frame of mind, but that wouldn't be exactly true.  

I am lazy.  I am fearful.  I am.... whatever.  

I don't want' to do the work it takes to finish this move; I just want someone to do it for me.  Like my husband.  (and I know he's thinking the same)  This is where the the tough get going, right?  

I thought my landlords were going to be great.  They are not.  They are just like all the rest.  (so what, Kate, get over it)   However, I am getting the distinct impression that they are pinching pennies because they are getting ready to default on this property, and simply want to get as much money out of it as they can before they walk.   sigh.  (I know that I can wrench this to our advantage, but I just don't want to have to use my brain about it right now.)   We have good lawyer friends who are keeping an eye on it for us.  (Thank you, God, for that small favor!)  

If that happens, we might move the domicile to the back half and rezone the front half for commercial and make a go of whatever Lou want's to do this week.  But I think we'd make a killing with a small coffee breakfast drive through, since there is nothing like that for miles.  I feel the future bearing down on me.  I just wish I were more motivated to carpe diem.  

Meanwhile, on the cancer scene.  I am just a'waitin'.  My surgery is scheduled for March 22.  I sometimes think I feel the cancer growing down my neck. But that is just paranoia.  I am fine.  And i am being silly.

What is really awful and strange, is T's cancer.  We both know that we were put here to support each other.  He's got something pretty weird. They know he has testicular cancer and removed the one that had the lumps. BUT, he also has something that spread up his body through his lymphatic system near his arteries.  and they don't know what it is.  (now if that ain't scary, I don't know what is).  They sent that pathology to Johns Hopkins for diagnosis, and he hasn't heard back yet.  They can't proceed with chemo or radiation until they figure that out.  

Since I am his cancer buddy, I am pretty up to date.  I see my job as being the sounding board.  He doesn't have to couch anything, he can cry, get mad, be a pussy.  whatever.  (I hope he doesn't try to punch me.)  Oddly enough, helping him, helps me with my diagnosis, too.  So, it serves as a support group, just like AA in a strange way.  T doesn't do well with group therapy, but I do.  My cancer is such a little thing that I'm afraid they'd all laugh at me, but T takes me seriously, so it works out.  

I see a running theme here, and this is really why I journal.  I can see that I am feeling a little sorry for myself for not having a bigger cancer.  How stupid is that?!!!!  Well, I do love drama.  How worked up can you get over a little mole, after all.  But I am worked up.  It was scary.  I still want people to know and feel sorry for me. Such a Camille.  But then I see reason, and say, Okay, Kate.  No, you really don't.  The price is simply too high.  You got off lightly now FOR A REASON, and you might not want to poke that sleeping tiger yet.  Just thank God, walk your walk, help others.

and breathe.  in.  out.  

Out here

I talked to T today on the phone -- my old friend, and now cancer-buddy.  I thought he'd be a big downer.  

We laughed really hard for about an hour.  I cannot believe what we were laughing about, but it felt really good.

Then he came over to the house to lend a hand with the roof.  It was like no time had passed at all, except what time had written on our faces.  

WTF!

I thought the hormones were working bit I doubt anything could have worked through this....
I dreamt I was playing basketball in a bear costume. So was it the night sweats or the dream? Either way, I had to change midway through the night.

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stupid girl

 I feel very dorky and stupid today.

I have very tender ego feelings, probably from working with my old coworkers again.  It brought up a lot of old insecurities.  

So, I need to just detach and let it all slide off again.  

hmmmmm

I think I need to be a human-doing today versus a human-being.  Too raw.

Writer's Block: Everyday I write the book

If you were to write your autobiography, what would be the title?


"If I Knew the Headline I'd Have Written it by Now"

Writing headlines for straight news stories is pretty straightforward for me.  It's features that give me problems.  I usually have to use a one-word "slug" and go back when I am done writing the story.  I would hope that my autobiography would be a feature, so this would be my placeholder.  Actually, it's not half bad.  I wonder if someone's already taken it....  Dibs!!!!!

Take your pick

I had an all-over kind of day. 

I thought about the move ahead, and the upcoming sell-off that will likely result because of the lack of storage space.  That means some items I really like will have to go too, and I will not get nearly what they are worth.  sigh.  But I have done this at various times in my life, and it's somewhat cathartic to trim the fat.  I'm simultaneously reminded of the movies "Labyrinth" and "The Jerk," by my materialism.  Honestly, it's just stuff.  Everything but artwork, which is sublime, and it stays.

It's day 11 of skin hell.  I only went out in the early morning to take the kids to the bus stop, and hid inside for the rest of the day.

I have recently become an NCIS fan in the worst way, and am getting caught up.  I just love it, and while I am loving McGee's little crush on Abbey, I think Gibbs has more than fatherly feelings for her at times.  hmmm.  Unfortunately I am watching them out of order, so I just saw the one where the female director (who had a hot thing with Gibbs at one time) is murdered in a diner. in the desert  And that was the second show ever I saw her in, so not much connection. But I like the show and will continue to watch it.

I have my big appointment at the melanoma clinic tomorrow, and I'm pretty nervous. My worries are most likely unfounded.  I know the VA - They will have me will sit around and wait for at least 30 minutes. Then I'll do paperwork.  Then I'll wait for the doctor.  It's that doctor part I wonder about.  I think they may ask me if I have any concerns or questions (and yes, I do! Thank you so much for asking!). Will they look at me and call for the emergency cancer cart?  Probably not.  Just a little nervous, though.

So off I go to arrange my house in my head and watch another NCIS, to keep my mind from wandering. 

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The eyes are up here, honey....

That statement sure used to mean something different to me. 

I'm in my second week of topical chemotherapy, and my face is becoming somewhat of a train wreck -- very angry blotches.  I had to go to the corner store, and none of the clerks would look me in the eye, but they sure were whispering furiously and craning their necks when I was getting my soda at the fountain. 

I put my stuff on the counter and was my usual pleasant self, but I noticed the clerk would not look at me.  I paid and said thank you, and she was polite, but kept her eyes glued to somewhere around my left shoulder. 

I longed to be clever at the moment -- to whip out sample bottles of sunscreen and look at them sympathetically and say something dramatic like, "It's worse than you think...... It's stupidity.  I think it might be contagious."

But that clever moment passed me by and I meekly went to my car and felt bad about my face. 

It is hard to face the consequences of my actions.  I did this.  To myself. 

To find myself vacillating between self-pity and self-loathing -- two entirely useless emotions -- is frustrating.  Look at me, the jack-ass...boo hoo!  That just totally eroded any mental toughness I had today.

Recovering alcoholics in 12-step programs don't allow themselves self pity, and I think that's probably wise for me in this as well.  I'm not going to promise to be perfect, but it's something to aim for at least. 

I have to keep putting this stuff on my face until Sunday the 16th.  Then I have to hurt.  And I don't want to.  I am not being self-pitying, I am being stubborn and willful.  There is a difference.

Hopiates

I have to be very careful about painkillers and opiates. They have a siren's call like no other, and they are dangerous to me.  

While hope is typically considered a good thing by most people, it can be a dangerous opiate in the hands of someone like me.  It has to be administered carefully, in small doses with supervision in most cases.  It can get out of control very quickly and has serious side effects. 

I could be glib and wry and take this to a positive place, but it's actually true.  I can even screw up hope.  

I'm not saying I walk around in despair at all times; I am too happy to be a realist. 

But my life is a walk requiring balance. I have an amazing ability to compartmentalize (which I think means ignore things that might scare me if I really look closely). I walk a few steps and someone throws something at me.  I juggle.  I spin.  I turn. I dance.  I fall.  I get up.  I do it again. sometimes I don't get up for a while.  

That's why I like hope.  Hope is amazing.  It helps me when I can't get back up on my own.  But I can fly off into dreamy-dream land too, and lose sight of what is important right now.

Right way:  If it's supposed to happen, it will happen.  Whatever is in my power to do about it, I will do.  I will take the steps patiently and in the right order and leave the rest up to God.

Wrong way:  My cancer will disappear tomorrow when I wake up.  I will call her every five minutes until she picks up the phone to schedule an interview.  We will get the house, and somehow we'll turn it into a palace by spring. (ad infinitum)

I do it the wrong way more often than I'd care to admit.  I'm trying to keep it under control, but I don't have a prescribing doctor for my "hopiates" today.  So I will take it in small doses, and wash it down with some reality. 

And then I will play with my kids, because they can be taken in large doses with no harmful side effects.

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Cats and dogs

I understand why there have to be both cat people and dog people.  In that respect, I am a switch hitter.  I have a little coton de tulear mix -- Moses,  and long-haired gray -- Pecker.  They have a love-hate thing going on, but that's how Pecker (the cat) likes it.  Me too.

Sometimes I wish my cat could be more like my dog, and then I'll change that around and wish my dog could be more like my dog - but that usually has to do with bladder control.  

My dog is a good companion, always happy, likes to fetch and barks too much.  My cat is moody and demanding, yells a lot and very sweetly rubs his head into my hand when he wants to be patted.   Moe will go into his kennel when I tell him to.  Pecker will glare at me when I tug at the blanket he is sleeping on.  

Moses waits somewhat patiently for me to take him out in the morning.  Pecker sits by my carotid artery counting how many heartbeats he wants to give me if I don't wake up soon enough to suit him.

And so it goes.  Viva la difference.

Misery loves company

Fear and worry are odd bedfellows.

I have some issues with depression and the doc bumped my prescription up.  I think that started having an effect yesterday, because I felt my dark cloud lift.

and I missed it.