And I Don't Mean Eager

Sorry for the long week between posts. It was Thanksgiving n' stuff and the parents were here and we cooked and ate and put a fire in the fireplace that made my books smell like smoke, but I didn't care because it was a very nice companion to the holiday dinner with friends and family. Man ... do you know how long I've waited to have a fire in that fireplace?

Now it's December and Christmas is coming and I'm broke again (thanks cancer!) and work is a little hectic and odd, and on December 13 I get shot up again and scheduled for scans to see if the current stuff is working.

So, yeah, I've got anxiety.

Plain and simple.

I dread getting up in the morning, primarily because Veda now sleeps tucked into the bed instead of on top of it and it's hard to leave the warm, furry baby, but also because getting up means going through the motions of another day and letting the hours slip past until it's 9 at night and I remember all the stuff I haven't done yet.

Add to this, I was telling a friend yesterday that I can't remember what is was like to go through the day without thinking about cancer. How long do I have? Is this [fill this blank with random pain of choice] related to the cancer? So if this treatment works does that mean I have to get shot in the ass every month for the rest of my life? And if it doesn't work does that mean I have to be on chemo for the rest of my life??

It's hard to have those thoughts coupled with someone barking at you "You people sent me a calendar with red letters. RED LETTERS! Who would buy something like that?" "Well, madame ... erm ... you did actually."

Actually I guess in hindsight that stuff is pretty funny. The You People time of year is always stressful while it's happening, but a few hours later it can be sort of amusing.

But Thanksgiving took me away from all of that and maybe that's what's made it harder to handle now. Every day is not relaxing by the fire. Every day is someone barking crap at you.

Over Thanksgiving dinner mom was recounting a trip we took to Yosemite when we were all young and perky. I think I was 8 or 9 -- after the age of 10 I was no longer perky. To earn a "Go Climb a Rock" t-shirt (because you had to earn it, people; you couldn't just have one), we hiked to the top of Vernal Fall: "To proceed directly to the top of Vernal Fall, follow the Mist Trail 0.5 mile (0.8 km) up a steep granite stairway of over 600 steps." I don't know where in the steps I lost it, but I started to cry, then I couldn't breathe, then I couldn't climb, then I couldn't look up because my family was so far ahead that I couldn't see them anymore, then I started to panic --- that's when I heard a man behind me say "You can't stop, sweetheart. You have to keep going up. Let's go." And he pushed me, step by step, up that f...king waterfall and then ditched me at the top where mom was waiting. "Some man had his hand on my ass the whole way up!" she said.

You can't stop, sweetheart. You have to keep going up.