I'm Sorry, But...

What a week...and I'm so glad it's over. I just reread that last post and I realize that a lot of what I regret saying are complaints. I hate to complain. I don't "vent." I hate feeling like I'm whining. I always add a caveat before I speak or warn the person I'm speaking to that "I don't like to be negative, but..."

You know what? Too bad. If the shit is hitting the fan, the boss should know. And she should help me and not look at me like "why are you telling me and what the hell do you expect me to do about it?" I'm a work in progress here. I do not have 10 years of management experience and she knows that. How does she know that? Because she promoted me and she held back that promotion a good long time, until recently. Yes, there's much I can and should figure out on my own. But I run my group fairly autonomously and if I get to the point where I'm telling her something is a problem, then, for me, it's obvious that I need some direction for my next step. She's not another buddy that I need for venting. I'm not a ventor.

And outside of work, sometime life really does suck. My cup will always be half full, but the half that's empty is really kicking me in the ass. It's hard to keep quiet and take it like a trooper, all the time. On some days - ok, periodically throughout the day - I may get bitchy or anxious or sarcastic or just plain batty. And yes, I may complain about my job or my home or my parents or my clothes or my looks. I may complain, incessantly, on one given day. I shouldn't have to apologize or warn people that they are about to hear crap come flying out of my mouth. No one does that for me when I hear it. But still, I do.

Why do I feel this need to apologize or warn or feel guilty or embarrassed for being negative or complaining? Because I know how I feel being on the receiving end. I hate it. I find it horribly annoying to listen to people complain for hours on end about how life sucks. I was the one prompting my buddies and cousins to see the half of their cup that was full, to grab life by the balls and be happy. I want that back. I want to feel that happiness, that verve, that zest, that optimism. Yet, I don't. And I hate that. So, I apologize.

Stop the Ride

No big post here. I'm all over the place. I don't feel like me. And I want me back. I like the quirkiness I've always seemed to have, but now it's not so cute. I feel crazy.

I want to take life as it comes. I want to feel passionate about things, without flipping out. I don't want to panic. I don't want to act and then later wonder what the heck I did and said and why. I want to just stop and relax and not worry about what the world must be thinking.

Remember Me?

Yesterday, I was reminded of why my ex-husband stopped taking me to the movies 10 years ago. I cry. And I don't just cry where everyone else in the theater does. I'll cry at 10 minutes after the quirky touching scene - after the film itself has moved on. And I'll cry for a good hour after the movie is over wondering why my life can't be like that if it was a really good one.

I've always loved the movies but it's been a while since I've been in "the zone." I completely disappear and become a part of the movie and completely emotionally involved with the characters, or even become one of those characters. I analyze the moments, the players, the colors, backgrounds, music, clothing and imagine where the scenes would go if not constricted by Hollywood - if this were not a film what would be going on.

Sometimes, I become that person up there on the screen. My brain will take me deeper into his psyche, his past or future and then I have analyzed him so much that I lost track of the storyline altogether. I may be left in tears or elated or so emotionally charged that I'm empowered for the next week. I can also be left disheartened for two.

Yesterday was a double feature. First was Sideways. I wanted to know what the hype was about and I'll give you the quick "overrated" for Oscar-worthiness, but they were VERY REAL characters. How many of us geeks or schlubs get stuck with these troublemaking cool friends for a lifetime that we picked up in high school or college that later turn into the schlubs as they age? I know you may be thinking that's not what it was about but I analyze my way, you analyze yours. Back to me...boy did I cry for Miles. I cried throughout the entire film, I could feel his pain at being him.

I was going to go home from there, but knew I needed a pick me upper. The Wedding Date. Oscar-worthy? Hellllll no! Girly fun-worthy? Hellllll ya! A little bit of backwards Pretty Woman and it could've been beefed up some more, but it was just what I needed to cheer me up after the last one. But I cried at this one too, at all different non-sensical moments. A big epiphany given to us women, and one we saw in the commercials, is that we all have the love life we want. And I'm starting to think "uh oh" what am I doing wrong? But then I remember "this is a movie! The screenwriter is not Buddha!" I feel better. It did remind me though about my love for romantic comedies and my need for Dermot Mulroney to be an inch away from my lips with his. But I digress.

Remember me? I'm the one whose husband stopped taking her to the movies because she saw The Mirror Has Two Faces and cried for an hour after, demanding to know why her husband didn't sing to her from the streets. I found her today.

Breakthroughs

Breakthrough 1: If people are going to read this, I may want to update it every now and then. I just discovered that my new friend has linked to my blog from his blog. How very kind! Let's hope that the gentleman I called a wack never finds his way here.

Breakthrough 2: I realized that I really don't like who I seem to be becoming. I always knew I didn't like what I look like, but now I'm not so sure I even like my personality. I'm turning into my aunts and cousins - the ones that think they're helping you out with constructive criticism and leave you balled up in the fetal position in the corner of the room crying your eyes out.

Breakthrough 3: It's all my mom's fault. The stereotypical scenario of a psychological breakthrough usually involves discovering it's your mom's fault so it shouldn't have been too much of a breakthrough.

Issues

Finally met with the psychiatrist today. I was so proud to call my friend, after the session and let her know I'm not depressed. Her response, "I knew you're not depressed, you're just a bitch."

Woo hoo! I'm really reveling in the new found freedom that comes with not being perfect, with acknowledging that I do, in fact, have issues.

I get batty when things are not running on schedule. I hate if it seems I'm running late and G-d help you if you are running late.

I can not deal with chaos. One kid, two kids, I'm still ok. Five kids running in circles around the house chasing each other and I start banging my head like Rainman.

I am an intellectual snob. There, I said it, are you happy? I don't share my feelings and thoughts because I'm convinced you won't get it. Maybe I am a bitch. It's an issue.

There are so many more ways to elaborate on those examples but they're just the minor details of the point. The point is I'm okay with not being perfect, not being calm, not going with the flow, not being the cool one. I've got quirks and I flip out and yes, I have issues!

It's Already Out There

Well I did it. I went on a date. With a local. Wow!

For the past year and a half, I have been on dating hiatus. Yes, I was involved with two men and quasi-involved with another, but those don't count as dating. None lived locally. If they're not local, you can't go on a date. You can chat online, talk on the phone and plan visits, but you can not date. This is why I consider it a dating hiatus.

For the past 9 months, I have removed myself from the market - outside of those long distance romances, which were not supposed to be "exclusive" but that's another topic for another day - and have been in a self-inflicted exile. I needed to deal with my illness and did not make for the greatest catch. I leaned on my out-of-town sweetie for awhile and he was a wonderful distraction and support. But going through this experience made me realize how important it is to have someone by your side. Physically.

I go back and forth on whether it's time. The treatments are done, I'm considered healthy and I have the time. But my hair's not back yet. I still don't feel so attractive and hate the idea of having to explain why you can't put your hands through my hair while we're kissing.

I did it anyway. I put myself out there. I got myself a little crush on an online writer and decided to send him a note. Emails ensued and then the IMs and the date was set. Holy Shit, I was going on a date.

I like him, but I knew from the phone call, even before the date, that he wouldn't be right for me. The offline persona didn't match the online persona - again, another topic for another time. But I went on that date, regardless. I had fun, he's a good guy, just not relationship material for me...and I don't need another fling and don't believe in "friends with benefits." I have too many issues - the "it's not you, it's me" cliche is playing in my head.

The good part in this is I realized it's time. It's time for me to stop hiding and get my ass out there. I put myself out there, it didn't happen, and I survived and I even had fun! Will I find Mr. Right on the next date? It could happen. Or maybe not. Doesn't matter. The dating has begun. I can't take it back, it's already out there.

I Hate Overture

Oh my G-d! Oh my G-d! Oh my G-d! I am quickly losing my patience for online customer support. Where the heck is a damn phone number. I can't find what I'm looking for and I need this fixed now!!! Click here, then here, then read a million FAQs that I would never ask and then find that damn link to write a customized complaint ticket.

Overture owns the online world right now and I'm going nuts! I think Google and Overture have a conspiracy against me to make my brain explode with functionality that only exists on one and not the other and vice versa. Why won't they both fix it all?! I want to see other peoples PPC bids on Google and I want Overture to let me just add new keywords without having to rewrite the damn add when I think of one!

UGHHHHHHHH!!!!!! I need to find my happy place. Good thing I'm off to the dentist.

The "Massage"

So I forgot to waste work time going over the "massage" story. I just have to get this down though. I don't want to forget the beauty and irony here.

I decided to get a massage to help alleviate the incredible stress I've been feeling. Of course, I decide this at 4:30 on a Saturday afternoon, knowing full well that no place will be able to take me on short notice and no place will even be open on a Sunday. So, I start my search online and find the Body & Soul Retreat - open Sundays. Woo hoo! I call. The gentleman is very kind. He tells me there's one opening left. I explain my need for sensitivity because I want to do this without the wig. He's very enthusiastic about helping me and explains how there are massages that work on your lymphatic system, and that he's got the perfect person to do it. He even rearranges schedules so that I can get this "specialist." He mentions a few "earthy" kinds of things to me, but I dismiss it.

Fast forward to Sunday afternoon. I've completely psyched myself up to be annoyed before I even get there, imagining this person massaging me might actually want to talk to me. I've always had a policy of "no talking" during my massage. Of course, that policy is only in my brain because I'd never have the nerve to say out loud "no talking" to someone. I just can't relax, during a massage, if the person is talking to me. I want to relax and having chit chat with the help is not relaxing. G-d that sounded awful! Okay, I didn't mean it that way, but having to make small talk while trying to unwind doesn't work. I need to drift off and not think about whatever that person decides to talk about. I get there completely ready to be pissed off by this.

I was wrong. It wasn't talking that was about to piss me off. I'd hate to say I'm not spiritual, but I'm not into that earthy, yoga, granola, psychic energy, chakra shit. It's just that to me...bullshit. Frou Frou, mental fluff, bullshit. I was about to be knee deep in it.

From the meditation room to the sweet, calm, soothing speech Bonnie gave me to the clear your minds all the way through to the "how do you feel now" look of pride she gave me, I wanted to scream! Let me give you a hint of what a massage is. It's massaging the body!!! I knew it was a bad sign when she asked me as a "by the way" if I wanted her to also work on my back and neck. Um, duh! "Oh yeah," I said. "I want the whole thing." I meant my entire body. Apparently, not what she was thinking.

She took my hands and explained that the left one is my giving hand and my right is my receiving hand, and if I place them both on my heart, I am giving and receiving love to myself. Either that or I'm rehearsing for my wake. Oh wait, I'm Jewish, we don't do that. I digress.

Bonnie would put one hand under me, then the other would press gently on my arm or my stomach or my leg. Each spot, she'd just sit there like that for 5 minutes. All that kept running through my head was "if she doesn't start massaging in the next minute, I'm getting up." But I didn't. Finally, she seemed to be massaging my feet, but that was a quick 15 second rub to get the blood flowing for the next 5 minute "hold." Towards the end, yes, she massaged my back for 5 minutes. She took my bandana off to "massage my scalp." Again, we seemed to have a miscommunication. Massaging my scalp meant ruffling my fuzz like I was the pet cocker spaniel and had been a good dog.

It was over and I decided I would be honest with the owner. I would tell her that she should warn a first-time clients that a massage is not a real massage and to ask for that if that's what they want. But that was not to be. Just as I was about to let her have it, she went into her enthusiastic speech about how wonderful Bonnie is, and how I should try out her Yoga class as her guess at the Lighthouse Point location and how it's transformed her life. Oh well.

Wait, I forget the part that finally made me laugh. They pitch a "Ladies' Night Out" special. What she tells me sounds wonderful - we all are in robes, eating brie and drinking wine (ok, so I don't drink but it's a nice image) and getting manicures and pedicures and facials and massages. She encourages me to invite 10 -12 people and it's all for $200. I had heard her on the phone earlier pricing a kids' party for teenage girls at $475, so I'm curious how it's so cheap. I tell her about my single moms group and how I think this is a great idea. "Let me understand - $200 and we can have 10-12 women." Nope, I was wrong. $200 per person. I start laughing. She says she can work with me, we can change some of the services to make it more affordable. I tell her these are all single moms, there's no way we can swing it. She tells me to call her and they'll work with me.

I leave laughing.

"Not Comfortable" with Anti-Depressants

So Dr. C didn't feel "comfortable" prescribing me anti-depressants. At least I've moved from depressed to pissed. Hello! Everyone who is faced with cancer should automatically be put on something. No doubt, you will feel some sort of mental or emotional anguish during this period. Just expect it. I'm not crazy, but I'll get there soon enough. Why was he so enthusiastic about my taking pain medication when I resisted? Why did he encourage me to take the relaxant when I was having chemo? Yet, he's "not comfortable" with prescribing an anti-depressant. Unbelievable.

That's it for now, but later today, I plan to waste work time going over the massage I paid $80 for that was not a massage but a trip to Oz.

Yep, He's a Wack

OK, he's a wack. I admit it. She was right, he's not all there. Well, I knew he wasn't all there, but I was needy and he was sweet and I figured I could always keep a distance to prevent him from getting attached. And I did, yet somehow he's attached...ergo, the wack comment. There wasn't much communication or activity to get attached to dangit!

Ugh, gotta find a way to curb communication here. Thought I wrote the goodbye letter this morning, but he didn't seem to read it that way.

I'll work a little harder on it.

Stupid Stupid Hole!

I totally should go back to sleep, because right around 11 am, I'm going to be desperate for a nap. Sometimes, if I try really really hard, I can actually go back to sleep when I wake up too early. But if I feel the need to get my ass out of bed to go to the bathroom, the ADD kicks in and I start doing laundry, putting the dishes away and make coffee and then presto! I'm up for good.

I should have something clever to say or write about, but alas, poor Yorick, no.

At least today is Friday. I've been waiting for this day for so long. And then I have to be a good friend and offer to watch Sylvia's kids so she can go on a date. She didn't want to take me up on that, since I won't have my daughter, but with Karla's help, I think we convinced her. I told her the only thing I ask in return is to see the video if the date goes well. I crack me up.

Speaking of videos...apparently Randy has some secret idea that he didn't want to run by me until he got some input from Mistie. Yes, I'm secretly hoping he wants to surprise me with a visit. I need to stop this. It's like I see that damn pot hole in the middle of the street and I'm walking towards it. I keep saying I'm going to move out of the way before I get too close and it gets dangerous, but I find myself drawn to the damn hole. I can not fall in there. I totally need to run down a different street, but I want to play on this street b/c I know this street is a short cut. But if I want the short cut, I risk falling into that stupid stupid hole! I know I couldn't really fall for him, but I could get used to having a warm body around. Good thing he's not local, b/c I would end up diving right into that hole.

Gotta Go Gotta Go Gotta Go

I did it. I broke down and called Dr. C for some medical pick me uppers. I feel like my brain is on speed and constantly thinking gotta go gotta go gotta go, but I've nowhere I really need to go and nothing that really needs to be done. And in between these thoughts, I feel like grabbing the damn wig off my head and throwing it out a window. I'm tired of feeling uncomfortable and itchy.

I'm such a ray of fucking sunshine.

Just scheduled a massage for 3:30 - that should distract me for 15 minutes. I ordered a meditation CD, yesterday. Wish me luck in being able to concentrate enough to have it take some effect on me...and wish me luck in not laughing at it if it seems too flaky.

Stelllllllaaaaaa

I think if I were writing more, I wouldn't be so antsy. I think it would help to get these scattered thoughts down and not let them just whirl around my head like a whip-it ride at the carnival.

I really should be working, but I will get to that soon enough. I'm enjoying the look of catalogs and folders and papers spread across my desk. I could probably wallpaper my office right now with all of it. Maybe that would relax me.

I need a vacation. I want the tropics and I want to read and enjoy the sun and drink frozen virgin strawberry daquiris and not worry if I spelled that right or not. I need to not talk to anyone for a week. Well, maybe to Paolo, the cabana boy. He can make me feel like Stella, getting her groove back.

That's it! I just need to get my groove back! If only I looked as good as Angela Basset did in that movie.

Talk about scattered thoughts, eh?

I'm So Much More Fun than This

Wow - I'm looking back over the posts from the past year and I'm seeming so serious...and depressing. So not me. I need a little booster shot of something to get my brain back in order. I'm so much more fun than this.

And what's more, I totally didn't accomplish most of those goals I wrote. Well, I got my finances in order. At least I didn't mention losing weight. OK, so I said exercise. C'est la vie. One visit to the gym with my daughter flying off the tread mill and there was no going back. I did make plans to go mountain biking - just didn't go. I promised the other girls at work that I'd go next weekend. I will, I promise.

So what now? I'm moving forward, which is where I felt stifled before. Or am I?

Not So Happy Poem

They see our strength but do they see us cry
Do they even want to know
Look away from me if you don't want the truth
Sometimes the pain sneaks through

She looks at me with sympathy and awe
But never sees my soul
She is amazed by the face of courage
Doesn't see the despair

Mom wore one too, he remembers her now
Encourages my comfort
Removing that from my tired head
just doesn't bring relief

Look at my face hard, past my storefront smile
And you will see what's there
The tears are falling slowly down my cheek
I do cry all the time

Cancer Poster Child

I am just not the poster child for cancer victims. I am not the strong woman everyone sees. Or I don't want to be. How the fuck am I supposed to cheer someone else up? My mother wants to send some woman to talk to me b/c she's got cancer and hasn't got the will to fight it. And I'm so fucking strong that I'm supposed to be her cheerleader? No, I'm not. I told her to find a professional. I am not happy and I am not strong and I want this over. Over damn it and I want to go back to moving forward before this stupid stumbling block got in my way. I don't want to spend the rest of my life fighting it or waiting for it to happen again. I want my bubbly happy go lucky take life as it comes attitude back and I want this day to be over. Today I want to just go home and lay in bed and cry. I want this gone and I want my hair and I want to never deal with this again. And I want someone else to cheer me up and be strong and know how bad this really sucks for me and not expect me to be a role model and not be impressed by my "strength" and just shut up and let me complain.

I just got a call from the hospital, my bloodwork came back with low platelets so the doctor decided I should wait a week before the next chemo. I just called his office and told the nurse it's now or never. I either finish up tomorrow or I'm not coming back for the 6th (which was a lower dosage anyway on a "just in case" procedure, so what's the fucking point!)

I should hear my phone ringing any minute now.

I'm so fucking sick and tired of this bullshit! Put me through the fucking ringer tomorrow, check me in if you have to, give me more transfusions, but with G-d as my witness, this fucking chemo bullshit is done tomorrow!

I nodded my head the whole time I was reading the story of her hair falling out. It was so close to the play by play I experienced. I had full wavy hair halfway down my back, I had great hair. Men loved my hair, that sexy touseled look.

I knew it was going to fall out when the chemo started, yet everyone liked to boost me up with an "it doesn't happen to everybody" speech that included one exception or another. But I knew it was only a matter of time.

The doctor told me it wouldn't start until after the second treatment, but it started about a week before. My mom had asked me to go wig shopping a week earlier, and I yelled at her to leave me alone until I actually needed it. It wasn't a fun girls day out for me. One week later, I called her. "It's time" I told her through tears.

Two weeks after my first chemo, I ran my hands through my hair and more than a few strands came out. I quickly called a friend, terrified. The next morning, I woke up with the back of my hair matted, and went to brush it. The entire knot came out in my brush. I cried so hard. I thought I had some more time. Not that it would've been any different.

The gentleman at the wig salon was the one that let me know it would all be gone within a couple of days. I thought it would just thin out, I didn't realize it happens so quickly. My "stylist" advised me to just buzz it all off. I couldn't. I had some offers for help, but that meant whoever did it would see me bald. I was determined that no one would see me bald.

Two days later, after the hair was everywhere in the house, in the bed, in the laundry, on the floors, in the sink, I looked into the mirror and grabbed the scissors. I had never had short hair in my life. I went to town and cut the whole head of fuzz down to about an inch. I tried to take my wet/dry razor to it but it got jammed, guess it's not meant for the head. After that, I would not buzz or shave the rest. I had thin sideburns and a patch at the back of my neck. The double sided wig tape cleaned off a section at the top, like a waxing treatment. If I was going to go completely bald, it had to happen on it's own. I wouldn't enable it.

I have a collection of wigs. People joke that I'm addicted. The truth is that none of them look real to me. None of them ARE me. I keep buying the next one hoping that one's going to look or feel better. They never are.

Around the house, I wear bandanas. My daughter accidentally wallked in on me in the shower and I was mortified. She was fine, but I wasn't. I'm okay wearing my "do-rag" in front of friends or family, but despite the multitude of requests, I refuse to show anyone.

Next Thursday is my sixth and last treatment (G-d willing). The doctor told me the hair would start growing back after my fifth, so daily I've been inspecting. I could swear I'm starting to see that blonde peach fuzz developing - which is interesting since I've normally got dark brown hair.

I came onto the web, trying to find out how long it would take to grow back, but there's no consistency. All I can do is wait it out. And I hate that.

Goals -

1) Work 3 hours every weekend on 2shop4stuff.com until ready - get it up and complete by 11/15

2) Give up sugar and white flour (no beating up for exceptions), eat less processed food after chemo is complete

3) Get finances under control -

• Create budget by 10/18, readjust with new salary in January
• Open Pre-paid tuition for Rachel by January
• Look into refinancing by 10/31

4) Sign Rachel up for an activity (capoeira, hip hop, gymnastics???) by 11/1

5) Get key to gym and set a schedule to work out by 11/12

6) Spend more weekends with Rachel

• Set up calendar with Jorge by 10/15
• find activities that are free or low cost by 11/1

7) Work on regular mountain biking schedule by 11/12

8) Start dating locally - quality only, must be ready for long term relationship, no "just for fun" by 11/26

9) Set new goals for the office, create a schedule of duties for myself by 10/25

10) Develop new idea for next screenplay by 12/1

It's amazing that I've been going crazy, yet I can't get myself to sit down and put my thoughts together into sentences. Maybe it's just like my lack of sharing with people. I'm not even expressing my thoughts on paper (or on the computer), let alone out loud. They just sit in my head, spin around and tear me up.

I don't know what it is or why I'm losing it, but I'm definitely feeling the emotion. I've been bitching since the beginning, but have generally kept a good disposition. Not this week. I'm feeling a big "fuck you" attitude for this crap. I don't want to go anymore and I don't want to put on my happy face. I want my hair back. It's not fun. I can own every wig they make, but it's not me, it's not comfortable and it's not good enough.

I have completely avoided worrying about my future, as far as my health is concerned. My focus is on the here and now, but this week that changed too. Will I have to go through this all over again? How often, how many times, how come?

I will try to get my good attitude back. I will try to choose happiness. But I need to forgive myself for these slips. I don't want to self pity, but I think it's fair to be frustrated. Am I a victim? Hopefully I don't present myself that way. I hate that quality in others so I need to be careful not to fall into that.

Oh well, going to end this post for now. I'm sure there's a lot more floating in my head, but I've got to work it out.