apparently mets-anxiety is not limited to the cancer patient herself. about a month ago, i was feeling a little tired on one particular day, and i mentioned this to my mother. this simple passing statement has now manifested itself in a never-ending cycle of questions.
"are you tired?"
"you said you were tired yesterday.."
"what kind of tired was it?"
"did you just not feel peppy?"
"do you think it was lack of sleep?"
"do you feel better today?"
"are you getting enough rest?"
i didn't even really notice this until i came to visit for the holidays. in person (as opposed to over the phone), the reason for the endless questions about the one day i was tired is clear. she is as terrified as i am about mets.
so now, i feel like i can't even whine about getting tired (or stressed or weak or sick) without triggering anxiety for other people.
i do feel like i am coming down the the flu, but god forbid i mention to anyone that i feel a little under the weather.
i've never done this before, but i have been tagged. here goes:
- if i have the middle seat on the airplane, i’d rather just not go at all. i don’t care so much about being sandwiched between two people. it’s the elbow wars that get me. i almost smacked a grandmotherly type during my last plane ride because she couldn’t seem to take the hint that her elbow was poking me in the gut.
- my grandfather was the first american indian to be elected to the state legislature in my home state.
- i have a syrinx in my spinal cord. the ramifications of said syrinx are not entirely clear, but i have no symptoms of paralysis at this time.
- i have been hospitalized 9 times for depression since i turned 19.
- i placed in the top ten in the nation for “original oration” in high school. i was also a master debater.
- i was once given a “vagina warrior” award. my father was very proud, but couldn’t bring himself to say the word “vagina” when he bragged about me.
- when i was an undergrad, i got my kicks by running around campus at night with other self-appointed radicals and vandalizing the sidewalks by spray-painting things like “dead men don’t rape.”
i hope these are anonymous enough to protect my identity, but probably not. i shall refrain from tagging others in order to protect the innocent.
i finally broke down and started inserting vagifem nightly.
omg, does it ever work. how do i stop this thing?
seriously, my underwear is soaked.
perhaps one day my libido will catch up!
i'm really tired of it, okay? i don't want to hear your opinions. i'm glad you think it looks
cute
sassy
lesbian-chic
better than long hair
fun
hot
what have you
i'm just not happy talking about my hair. it is better than being bald, but i hate that i have to think about it. i hate that i have to talk about it. i hate that i have to mat it down with gel before appearing in public. i hate that i am back to hats. i hate that you want to talk about it. please shut up. i am growing it out whether you like it or not. seriously. don't try to talk me out of it. really. really. shut. up.
i'm addicted to the show, but i hate heidi klum and tim gunn.
tim gunn bugs the total shit out of me. I HATE IT WHEN HE SAYS "i'm going to have to ask you to go upstairs and clean up your space, mmkay?"
it makes me want to pull my face off
if you sell a beautiful used piano to a woman who recently battled cancer and got all sentimental about music, here's a tip:
after delivery of said piano, avoid telling the long, horrible story of how your dog died of cancer.
there's nothing that says "foreplay" like your 30-something husband saying
"honey, did you remember to put your vagifem in tonight?"
"deadly"
"aggressive"
(and they didn't even spell aggressive correctly)
http://www.wptv.com/content/komen/story.aspx?content_id=03acdfde-8226-41a6-b85e-48ea32f7b34c
