July 24, 2008

• So here I am. Back because the only place I can sort things out is here, written down.

  This Tuesday I got the news that I have a particularly virulent nasty and aggressive son-of-a-bitch breast cancer. I have two totally awesome kids, finally got the whole bi-polar stuff sorted out, psycho-granny kicked the bucket (drank some champers over that one!) and now I get this 1 out of 100000 kind of breast cancer that is really fucking serious.

  This has to be a joke. This is payment for accepting atheism into my life and rejecting God.

  Or something.

  Lists I made because I am feeling particularly morbid. Sue me, I have breast cancer.

  Things I Wish I'd Done:

  1. Smoked dope, got drunk and slept around in high school.
  2. For that matter, slept with a WHOLE LOT MORE BLOKES.
  3. On the same subject, had sex with Tyson Beckford. And Hugh Laurie. And Robert Downey Jr. And Jim Morrison. And George Clooney. (I do. not.want. to. know. nor. do. I.care.if.any.are.gay.)
  4. Became a teacher.
  5. Been nicer to my mother when I was just really being a narcissic self-absorbed teenager/young adult/30ish plonker.
  6. Understood my dad better, earlier.
  7. Paid more for shoes.
  8. Dyed my  hair blond or Annie Lennox red and chopped IT.ALL.OFF.
  9. Worked out what I wanted before now.
  10. Been nicer to my kids when I wanted to throttle them and they never EVER deserved it.
  11. Gone to Hollywood. Just to point and laugh. Really, one simply MUST.
  12. Been a Size 6 for a week. I couldn't take the torture more than that. I  love to eat.
  13. Relied on my instincts more and listened less to what people said.
  14. Asked for help more often.
  15. Bought a drum set and learned to play the drums.
  16. Shot a gun. Once.
  17. Jumped out of a plane.

  ..... more later. Promise.

  My husband is in the garage crying his heart out, the kids are engrossed in "Matilda". We've told them as much as they can handle which is "mummy is sick but going to get better and we will all have to be positive blah. blah. fucking blah".

  Of course we'd sweetened the deal by buying them complete new outfits -- camo hipster pants, black "I am totally gorgeous" glitter t-shirts with skulls and crossbones --- and handbags.  I am not stupid.

  Mousey took it very badly. She's been aware something has been up for about a week now, not surprisingly. Boo-boo doesn't really get it. Medicine goes in, I get better. Mouse is more scared that I am lying to her and I am dying. Since I don't actually KNOW that I am NOT in fact, dying, I am avoiding the topic. I have told her about the radiation therapy and how I will be tired, and the chemo will make me sick and I might lose my hair. I talked her into helping me pick out the great big honking tattoo I am going to get on my head if I lose my hair. Something totally ludicrous, like a giant prehistoric dragonfly. She was so horrified, she wants to help. Visions of fairies or Bratz dolls or Zac Efron....

  Anyway, that's me. What's up with you?

  • 8:35 am
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