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…

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A Scones Throw

That’s the first thought I had when I woke up, “A scones throw” as in a unit of measurement like a stones throw.  I imagine a scone would be much harder to throw and measure.  Probably why it’s never used as much as a stone.

I made scones yesterday for the first time and damn they’re easy, and good.  Only challenge is to not eat all of them in one sitting.  Which until recently has not ever been an option because I’ve had kids to eat everything, good or bad, in about 15 minutes.  With them gone (still alive, I didn’t kill them, just moved out) I kind of don’t know what to do with extra food, milk, etc. except eat it all myself before someone else.  Like a crazed starving zombie.  But I’m fighting for the food alone.  Looks funny from the outside I bet.  I also don’t know what to do with my time.  I don’t need to clean as much so what else is there?  Really, what do people do with time?  I’m going to make a list of options for the day.

1) Finish Columbine (book about the school shooting – I like reading about psychopaths and murder for numerous reasons)

2) Watch movies on Netflix

3) Plan out website for private counseling practice in April

4) Hike with dog (it’s really pretty out and warmish)

5) Sit and stare

6) Hijack boyfriends clay studio in the garage and make something awful (he’s gone selling work)

7) Obsess about wrinkles and freak out by over doing the self maintenance

Whatever I do, I will do it with gratitude, because I have a lot to be thankful for.  Time to sit and think about what to do is just the tip of the sconeberg, I mean iceberg.

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Fragile Balloon Heart

While in another town, several hours away with my (wonderful) boyfriend for a concert on v-day, I saw the woman pictured below at a stoplight. It’s a little hard to tell how incredibly sad and tragic she looked from the picture. Valentines day evening, she is standing alone on a corner being assaulted by 30 mph winds, that given her appearance should have blown her away. Skinny as a rail, very old and weathered, wearing an over-sized, hooded Carhart and holding a red heart-shaped helium filled balloon down by her waist. She was either waiting for a ride or the bus, hard to tell.

I keep thinking about that heart balloon. Wouldn’t it be nice if one could just remove said heart (you know, the emotion part) and hold it at arms length, observing it. I’ve spent the last week in a constant ache from self inflicted worry, fear and loathsome self conscious angst for no reason in particular. If only I could have removed the damn thing and looked at it from a different perspective I think it would have been much less painful. Like that woman, standing there all alone with her fragile heart and balloon on v-day. I assumed she was pitiful, but really I’ve been the depressing and unfortunate one unable to take a step back and look at pain without marinating in it.

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I don’t want your goddamn cookies!

It’s official today: I’m not happy with my job.  It’s been almost exactly a month and I feel like coming to work equals going to the hole.  You know, like in prison when you “go to the hole” for whatever bad thing you did.  I’m fairly sure going to work shouldn’t feel like going to prison.  Mostly I hate the climate here.  Everyone walks around in slacks, ties and acts like they really like each other, which is bullshit.  We all hate each other and this place.  People buy cookies from whatever dumb parent got sucked into selling them for their dumb kids and it becomes a competition of who’s cubical list has the most names.  Oh. My. Fucking. God. I do not want to buy cookies for any cause.  I lied when I said I would.  Lied!   I don’t like causes in general, especially when they benefit kids!