Why isn’t everyone crazy?

Apparently I’m losing my mind, wits, marbles – whatever.  I lost things, let’s put it that way.  And I can’t seem to find them.   To be quite honest, I’m not sure where to look and I’ve procrastinated a bit.  Okay, I haven’t looked.

My brain isn’t working, I cannot make myself do things I don’t like and I much prefer altered states of consciousness.  Not conducive to my life and it’s not working out well.  I seem to recently have these new rules for myself that are quite limiting.  For example, I’m not allowed to leave the house after dark on a weeknight.  It’s bad.  This restricts movie watching at a theatre.  And I must have the option of being in bed by 9:30, never mind the fact that rarely happens.  No phone conversations after work.  Or at work.  They’re exhausting.  Absolutely no doing anything different.  Nope, not me.  I will do the same goddamn things until my tracks are so ingrained I can’t see out of them.  Ask me why?  I have no idea.  I know better, and chose less.  Maybe removing body parts will make things different.  Maybe they’ll find my wits in there, and they’ve just been hiding in my uterus.  I wouldn’t blame them, it’s nice, dark and warm.

Oh god, it’s only 4:25.

What do you wear to a Willie Nelson concert?

Dolly Parton in the 1970s

I’m on a mission.  Mostly to do things I wouldn’t normally.  You see, though I’m really honest here, in the non-internet/cloud world I try to fit in and refrain from boat rocking for the most part.  Thoughts stay in my head if I’m in control, and had enough sleep (or not if I’m in the car alone).  I’m now seeking a middle ground.  If I find someone attractive, I’ll tell them.  If I want to go up to a stranger and strike up a conversation about their belt buckle because I’m shocked that their able to walk around with the weight, well then I will.  And what better place to kick it into high gear than tonight at a Willie Nelson concert!

I’ve been debating on what to wear all day.  A t-shirt with another band’s graphic? A cowboy hat?  Jeans, cut offs, shorts, tank top… the list goes on.  You may be wondering why I’m even wasting my time because, who gives a fuck what you wear, no one cares, right?!  Wrong.  I do.  So I’m walking over to Urban Outfitters now to buy a way over priced Dolly Parton t-shirt because it’s fucking awesome and quite possibly the most perfect thing to wear to a Willie Nelson show.  HA!

 

13 days folks.

Ovaryacting

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I wish I had something really smart to say about all this.  I got nothin’.  It’s been around 6 months since I’ve written anything on this blog, mostly because I forgot about it.  Today I remembered, wishing I had someone to talk at, that would just listen and nod in agreement.  Here we are, you and I, go ahead and nod away.

Many endings and changes since December: my relationship ending, kids moving out,  sanity gone.  Not much would ever surprise me , or so I thought.  Then I found a cyst and my right ovary, had it removed in April.   Doctors determined it was ovarian cancer, stage 1.  I’ll be going back in two weeks from today to have all the rest taken out, including my appendix.  Then chemo for a bit. I’ll be in menopause and require HRT.

It’s an odd thing, having cancer.  It’s exactly what you think it would be like – full of denial, resistance, disbelief and all that, and I don’t have anything major, really.  Just need to do a clean sweep and I should be okay…fingers crossed.  It makes you ask a lot of existential questions; tease the unimportant from the truly valuable, and examine what control you do or don’t have.  It’s exhausting.  And enlightening.  I’ve decided I really want to be happy.  I REALLY WANT TO BE HAPPY!  Did you hear me?  And I’m not.  I don’t think I ever have been.  Most of what I do, most of the time, is not making me happy.  I know all the bull shit about choices, and focus and gratitude – I’m a fucking therapist for Christ’s sake.  But really, it takes doing something different, not just changing your self talk.  That’s where I am now, anyway.  I’m sure it will change.  My intent is to write about it for a while and see where I go.

Two weeks and counting…