CAUTION: lots of curse words!!!!
(Don't say I didn't warn you.)
http://www.youtube.com/watch%3Fv%3DqHDdqubE7zQ
Thank you Warren. Well said.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
My Current State of Being
Phone call. Bad news. The worst. Tears start. Hang up. Call mom. Cry more. Hang up. Scream and curse and cry more.
Shock.
Foggy brain. More phone calls. Send texts to best friends.
Sit in shock. Realize I work in the morning. Sleep.
Wake up. Go to work with foggy brain. Smile. Deflect questions pertaining to my well being. Pretend it didn't happen to make it through the 8 hr shift. Go home. Cry more. Talk on phone more. Brian still foggy.
World is a pool and I can't catch my breath. More tears. Will they ever stop?
No, probably not.
Friend time. We go out. We eat and talk. I drink root beer.
Home. Tears.
Sleep. Sort of.
Wake up. Wonder why so tired and shaky. Remeber: need more food. What sounds good? Nothing. Maybe ice cream. Drive to store. Decide "chocolate chocolate chip" is do-able. Back home, eat it...and promptly throw up. Ice cream: bad.
Do research. Learn sugar feeds cancer. Hate the root beer I had. Am glad I threw up the ice cream.
Go for a drive. Rent a movie. Sit in car in empty parking lot and cry and scream some more. Get out of car and throw rocks at tree. Scream obscenities at innocent tree. It has deeper roots. Tree is fine. I am not. Feel like I'm floating and can't breathe. Sit down on wet ground. Sob and don't even try to stop it. I talk to Michael.
He sounds like he's drowning too. He doesn't sleep either. He cries too. He is scared, more than anyone else. He gets to be. I want to hug him. I want to help him fall asleep. I want to take it all away. I want it to be me.
That's not reality.
Can't sleep. Watch movie. Wonder if the creator of facebook has Asperberger's. Am surprised to be thinking about something else.
Go to work. Break down to the point of no return. Work says go home. Come back next week. Ok.
Home. More research. Feed Sally. Say hello. Realize cage needs to be changed. Later. Michael and I talk. It's strained. He's still drowning. So am I. Two people struggling. I don't know what to say.
Call mom, again. Mom says "come over." I do. Mom's are wonderful. Especially mine. Leave feeling like I have had some air. No longer drowning. Talk to Michael. I take a shower, finally.
Do research. Dig and dig and dig. The answer has to be here somewhere!!!!
It's not.
Keep doing research anyway. Realize it's puzzle pieces. Millions of pieces. Many haven't been found. I am angry at doctors. I am angry at medicine. I am angy at everything.
Talk to Michael. Not angry at him. Sleep.
Wake up. Go to Huntsman Cancer Institute for info. Find some. Brain gets foggy.
Remember: food. I hate eating. Sugar is everywhere. It feeds cancer. I get sick looking at it. Eat healthy stuff anyway. Brain works again.
Find some good news. Unexpectedtly I yell an expletive and startle librarian. Apologize. Explain. She smiles and nods.
Talk to Michael. He says, "Please don't give up on me." I won't. We make promises. I mean every word I say. I know he does too.
Find lots and lots of discouraging news. Send it all off on e-mails. Cry and cry. Cry more. Don't care that people see me. I'm at a cancer center. What do you expect.
Security guard says to smile, it's a beautiful spring day and I'm a beautiful lady. I hadn't noticed either.
Talk to sisters. Talk to friends. Hope I'll stop crying. I don't. Talk to Michael. We cry together. Hard.
Body scan day. Has it spread.
Wait.....for what seems like forever.....and then wait more. Sick. Walk dogs for a long time. Need stronger sunblock. Security guard was right. It's spring....
Still waiting. Agony. Every muscle is tense. I can't stop shaking....
A phone call....
Best news possible! This is wonderful!!! More tears. Happy tears. Call mom with good news. She yells, "HURRAY!" Spread the good news. Everyone is pleased.
Happiness is short lived. The reality is still bad. I fall into bed. More phone calls. We talk.
Exhaustion. Need to see friends but am so tired.
Need to shower. Showers help. All clean, except my hair. Baby steps are ok. Friend time is good but I feel foggy brained and don't know how to be normal. Food is there and it's good. I eat. I feel better. I need to sleep. I leave prematurily. Home. Sleep....a long, long time.
Wake up. Again. Must I keep waking up? Can't I sleep through this? No. More research to be done. Promises to be kept.
Need food. Open cupboard. Take out plate. Instantly filled with anger for who knows why. Again. Take a deep breath. Convince arm to place plate on counter versus throwing it and gaining some satisfaction from watching it shatter. Plate safely on counter. Sigh. Realize I need a bowl.
Eat. More research. We talk for along time while he walks. He use to ride bikes. A champion. Now he walks. Walking is good for him. It's another good talk about many things.
Some friend time. It's good. I speak like a normal person. I think I even do a decent job acting like one.
But it's always there.
So sad. So scared. So worried.
Time for dinner. Time to not throw plates again. Time to chew. Swallow. Repeat til plate is empty.
I know someday I'll get to a new state of normal. I know I will. I don't know what it will look like. I'm scared of the road it will take to get there. I'm scared of what that "normal" will be. I'm so scared he won't be there.
At all. Anywhere.
I don't want that.
I ask again, for the millionth time, to the powers that be, "Please indulge my selfishness. Please let him stay for a while longer." I don't think bargaining works. More explitives.
Crying. Again. Use to it now.
My new normal.
Shock.
Foggy brain. More phone calls. Send texts to best friends.
Sit in shock. Realize I work in the morning. Sleep.
Wake up. Go to work with foggy brain. Smile. Deflect questions pertaining to my well being. Pretend it didn't happen to make it through the 8 hr shift. Go home. Cry more. Talk on phone more. Brian still foggy.
World is a pool and I can't catch my breath. More tears. Will they ever stop?
No, probably not.
Friend time. We go out. We eat and talk. I drink root beer.
Home. Tears.
Sleep. Sort of.
Wake up. Wonder why so tired and shaky. Remeber: need more food. What sounds good? Nothing. Maybe ice cream. Drive to store. Decide "chocolate chocolate chip" is do-able. Back home, eat it...and promptly throw up. Ice cream: bad.
Do research. Learn sugar feeds cancer. Hate the root beer I had. Am glad I threw up the ice cream.
Go for a drive. Rent a movie. Sit in car in empty parking lot and cry and scream some more. Get out of car and throw rocks at tree. Scream obscenities at innocent tree. It has deeper roots. Tree is fine. I am not. Feel like I'm floating and can't breathe. Sit down on wet ground. Sob and don't even try to stop it. I talk to Michael.
He sounds like he's drowning too. He doesn't sleep either. He cries too. He is scared, more than anyone else. He gets to be. I want to hug him. I want to help him fall asleep. I want to take it all away. I want it to be me.
That's not reality.
Can't sleep. Watch movie. Wonder if the creator of facebook has Asperberger's. Am surprised to be thinking about something else.
Go to work. Break down to the point of no return. Work says go home. Come back next week. Ok.
Home. More research. Feed Sally. Say hello. Realize cage needs to be changed. Later. Michael and I talk. It's strained. He's still drowning. So am I. Two people struggling. I don't know what to say.
Call mom, again. Mom says "come over." I do. Mom's are wonderful. Especially mine. Leave feeling like I have had some air. No longer drowning. Talk to Michael. I take a shower, finally.
Do research. Dig and dig and dig. The answer has to be here somewhere!!!!
It's not.
Keep doing research anyway. Realize it's puzzle pieces. Millions of pieces. Many haven't been found. I am angry at doctors. I am angry at medicine. I am angy at everything.
Talk to Michael. Not angry at him. Sleep.
Wake up. Go to Huntsman Cancer Institute for info. Find some. Brain gets foggy.
Remember: food. I hate eating. Sugar is everywhere. It feeds cancer. I get sick looking at it. Eat healthy stuff anyway. Brain works again.
Find some good news. Unexpectedtly I yell an expletive and startle librarian. Apologize. Explain. She smiles and nods.
Talk to Michael. He says, "Please don't give up on me." I won't. We make promises. I mean every word I say. I know he does too.
Find lots and lots of discouraging news. Send it all off on e-mails. Cry and cry. Cry more. Don't care that people see me. I'm at a cancer center. What do you expect.
Security guard says to smile, it's a beautiful spring day and I'm a beautiful lady. I hadn't noticed either.
Talk to sisters. Talk to friends. Hope I'll stop crying. I don't. Talk to Michael. We cry together. Hard.
Body scan day. Has it spread.
Wait.....for what seems like forever.....and then wait more. Sick. Walk dogs for a long time. Need stronger sunblock. Security guard was right. It's spring....
Still waiting. Agony. Every muscle is tense. I can't stop shaking....
A phone call....
Best news possible! This is wonderful!!! More tears. Happy tears. Call mom with good news. She yells, "HURRAY!" Spread the good news. Everyone is pleased.
Happiness is short lived. The reality is still bad. I fall into bed. More phone calls. We talk.
Exhaustion. Need to see friends but am so tired.
Need to shower. Showers help. All clean, except my hair. Baby steps are ok. Friend time is good but I feel foggy brained and don't know how to be normal. Food is there and it's good. I eat. I feel better. I need to sleep. I leave prematurily. Home. Sleep....a long, long time.
Wake up. Again. Must I keep waking up? Can't I sleep through this? No. More research to be done. Promises to be kept.
Need food. Open cupboard. Take out plate. Instantly filled with anger for who knows why. Again. Take a deep breath. Convince arm to place plate on counter versus throwing it and gaining some satisfaction from watching it shatter. Plate safely on counter. Sigh. Realize I need a bowl.
Eat. More research. We talk for along time while he walks. He use to ride bikes. A champion. Now he walks. Walking is good for him. It's another good talk about many things.
Some friend time. It's good. I speak like a normal person. I think I even do a decent job acting like one.
But it's always there.
So sad. So scared. So worried.
Time for dinner. Time to not throw plates again. Time to chew. Swallow. Repeat til plate is empty.
I know someday I'll get to a new state of normal. I know I will. I don't know what it will look like. I'm scared of the road it will take to get there. I'm scared of what that "normal" will be. I'm so scared he won't be there.
At all. Anywhere.
I don't want that.
I ask again, for the millionth time, to the powers that be, "Please indulge my selfishness. Please let him stay for a while longer." I don't think bargaining works. More explitives.
Crying. Again. Use to it now.
My new normal.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Sometimes...
Sometimes it's ok to ask, "Really universe? Right now?"
Sometimes it's ok to be pissed off at the lack of an immediate answer.
Sometimes it's ok to cry so hard you scream.
Sometimes it's ok to be so angry you shake.
Sometimes it's ok to want your mom, even as a grown up.
Sometimes it's ok to desperately need a hug.
Sometimes it's ok to see your mistakes but not want to change anything.
Because...
Sometimes things are just crappy.
Sometimes it's ok to be pissed off at the lack of an immediate answer.
Sometimes it's ok to cry so hard you scream.
Sometimes it's ok to be so angry you shake.
Sometimes it's ok to want your mom, even as a grown up.
Sometimes it's ok to desperately need a hug.
Sometimes it's ok to see your mistakes but not want to change anything.
Because...
Sometimes things are just crappy.
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