You Know, You Could Also Get Hit By A Bus
My wife thinks my blog is too much of a downer.
You always make me sound crabby.
You may live for a long, long time. You have no idea what your death date is. I could die first. The way that I drive, we could both die together very soon.
She's right...in many ways. My cancer is very individualized. Some people die very quickly, others hang on for many years. It all depends on how one's body reacts to the chemo drugs.
I don't have a death wish or anything, but I am pretty sure that my body is really fucking sick of this dance we keep doing. The chemo cancer dance. Same song, different tempo. It is my hope that it will hold on for a long time, but if it chooses to collapse? I won't be surprised. Or angry. I imagine that Keith Richards' body is really ticked off at him, too.
I think that I simply want to be prepared. I don't want to be stiff in a bed, incoherent at the end. I want to be stopped in my tracks in the middle of a laugh. Or my preference: sleeping. Just peacefully sleeping and then....slip away.
But you get what you get.
So, if this blog is still here in five years and you are thinking to yourself, this is the longest fucking swan song in the history of the world, well....lucky me. If the posts just stop mid air...lucky me, too.
But, because my wife is often correct, I will try to be more upbeat.
So, I've been sitting here trying to think of something upbeat and I ended up thinking about how stupid Donald Trump is. This is not upbeat. This is even more of a downer because it isn't just happening to me, it is happening to all of us. And the scary thing is that he is exactly like a cancer. Some of you don't even realize the danger he has put you into.
There. Better?
I guess I could talk about how I feel at night sitting in the dark and looking at the Christmas tree. It is truly lovely and a part of me understands why people keep them up all year round. Another part of me knows that this would only cheapen the tree. The beauty of it is that it comes with a season. The best things do: autumn leaves, that wave of heat you feel in the summer when you walk out of an over air conditioned place and it just hits you, the way a spring rain washes all the dust off the day.
I love other things, too. I love waking up in the middle of the night and it is like 1 a.m. The house is quiet and dark. You are toasty warm and don't have to pee or need a drink of water, so you can just drowsily fall back asleep. I love that feeling.
The way orange juice tastes when you have been sick and it is the first day that you really feel pretty good. Orange juice tastes like sunshine.
The way the chives smell in the spring when they start blooming in the front yard. You walk by and there is this sharp scent and you look down and there they are: blades of sluicy green.
The way dogs look up at you when you pet their heads just right and they are so appreciative. Their ears go back in a happy way and they smile with their eyes, tail wagging.
I'm not always a downer. I don't walk around proclaiming that I am dying. I just want to be prepared, you know? I want to cross over and feel like I remembered to pack everything I could into my heart.
So, I will just be me. Doing my dance in my own way. Planning my memorial service but also watching that perfect bird at the bird bath in the back yard. Funny thing about bird baths. We have four of them. One is a fancy one with a naked woman perched on the side of it. Another is a lovely coppery one. Another, a deep blue one with two little birds carved into the side. The last one is a big white dog bowl. Plastic.
That bowl is the one that the birds like the best. Go figure.
We all like what we like and have to be who we are.
Right.
You always make me sound crabby.
You may live for a long, long time. You have no idea what your death date is. I could die first. The way that I drive, we could both die together very soon.
She's right...in many ways. My cancer is very individualized. Some people die very quickly, others hang on for many years. It all depends on how one's body reacts to the chemo drugs.
I don't have a death wish or anything, but I am pretty sure that my body is really fucking sick of this dance we keep doing. The chemo cancer dance. Same song, different tempo. It is my hope that it will hold on for a long time, but if it chooses to collapse? I won't be surprised. Or angry. I imagine that Keith Richards' body is really ticked off at him, too.
I think that I simply want to be prepared. I don't want to be stiff in a bed, incoherent at the end. I want to be stopped in my tracks in the middle of a laugh. Or my preference: sleeping. Just peacefully sleeping and then....slip away.
But you get what you get.
So, if this blog is still here in five years and you are thinking to yourself, this is the longest fucking swan song in the history of the world, well....lucky me. If the posts just stop mid air...lucky me, too.
But, because my wife is often correct, I will try to be more upbeat.
So, I've been sitting here trying to think of something upbeat and I ended up thinking about how stupid Donald Trump is. This is not upbeat. This is even more of a downer because it isn't just happening to me, it is happening to all of us. And the scary thing is that he is exactly like a cancer. Some of you don't even realize the danger he has put you into.
There. Better?
I guess I could talk about how I feel at night sitting in the dark and looking at the Christmas tree. It is truly lovely and a part of me understands why people keep them up all year round. Another part of me knows that this would only cheapen the tree. The beauty of it is that it comes with a season. The best things do: autumn leaves, that wave of heat you feel in the summer when you walk out of an over air conditioned place and it just hits you, the way a spring rain washes all the dust off the day.
I love other things, too. I love waking up in the middle of the night and it is like 1 a.m. The house is quiet and dark. You are toasty warm and don't have to pee or need a drink of water, so you can just drowsily fall back asleep. I love that feeling.
The way orange juice tastes when you have been sick and it is the first day that you really feel pretty good. Orange juice tastes like sunshine.
The way the chives smell in the spring when they start blooming in the front yard. You walk by and there is this sharp scent and you look down and there they are: blades of sluicy green.
The way dogs look up at you when you pet their heads just right and they are so appreciative. Their ears go back in a happy way and they smile with their eyes, tail wagging.
I'm not always a downer. I don't walk around proclaiming that I am dying. I just want to be prepared, you know? I want to cross over and feel like I remembered to pack everything I could into my heart.
So, I will just be me. Doing my dance in my own way. Planning my memorial service but also watching that perfect bird at the bird bath in the back yard. Funny thing about bird baths. We have four of them. One is a fancy one with a naked woman perched on the side of it. Another is a lovely coppery one. Another, a deep blue one with two little birds carved into the side. The last one is a big white dog bowl. Plastic.
That bowl is the one that the birds like the best. Go figure.
We all like what we like and have to be who we are.
Right.
Comments
Post a Comment