Live Life!

I don’t come here much anymore.

More so than in the past I am finding it very hard to find the words to express what it is I feel and think in a way that does not make me sound like a neanderthal.  “Me good.  Me happy.  Me eat pizza” …Though I am not sure if neanderthal’s actually had the capability of such language…or pizza for that matter.  Well, I definitely know they didn’t have pizza, but I digress.

My thoughts get lost along the way to the tips of my fingers that long to type them out and breathe them into some sort of physical existence.

Life is good.  Really good.

I am in remission.  Finally.

Well, let me go back.   I’ve been in remission since after my first round of Hyper CVAD, however, as of this past June, I am officially OFFICIALLY….In remission.  Meaning no more chemo in whatever form.  No maintenance, no nothing.

My last bone marrow biopsy came back clean.  My Oncology team was super happy.  I’ve done extremely well.  I only have to come see them now every three months.

I have spent this past summer really trying to “live life”.   This has been my new mantra.  I like to yell it and throw my hands up in the air like I’m on a roller coaster.  Very metaphorical.

I’ve gone on trips, attended events, spent time with loved ones and appreciated every…single…moment.

Because folks, it’s all about the NOW.  and GRATITUDE.

I jumped into Burlesque with a fire and determination to, well, not suck at it.  I’ve had quite a few ladies in my town really light the fire under my ass too really be creative, to really let go, and to really just own it.  I don’t want to be another faceless burlesquer in this city, (though I have a feeling that I still probably am.)  However, I know that when I leave the stage after performing, I have put on one hell of a number and the audience has really enjoyed it.  They may not remember my name per se, but they will remember that girl who threw out the tootsie rolls or had the giant googly eyes on her ass.

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I’m letting go of hooping.  Meaning, that I don’t feel it has a purpose in my life anymore. I have such conflicting feelings about this, but at this time, the feeling of disappointment, frustration and exhaustion that I feel inside the hoop outweighs the feels of freedom, connection and spirituality.  (I mean, I had felt enough of that going through cancer.) I just feel like I can’t keep up with all that is happening in the hooping community.  My body feels like it will never be able to re-learn what it once knew yet alone learn all these flippity doo’s, escalators, and off body spastic spinny spins. It’s such a shift in mindset, because I never hooped to “impress”, yet it seems like there is such pressure for there to be.   It’s a new generation of Look at Me!

Where’s the flow?

Ehhh, whatever.  Maybe I’m just old.  Get off my lawn!

I’m sure at some point I’ll probably pick it up again.   Cause that’s what I do.  I hardly ever just quit something.  Entirely.

So that’s basically it.  For now.

Doing my thing.

Living life.

 

 

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Jackyl

A lot of time has passed since I’ve last posted (Does anyone read this anyways?)

So much time in fact, that I am nearing the one year anniversary of my “D” day.

The day I was diagnosed with cancer.

 

It’s a strange feeling.

There are times when I am at the cancer center for a check up or blood work, and I am transported back in time when my life revolved around those hospital stays.

It makes me almost feel lost again.

The thought of me getting back to “life” somehow feels adrift.  There is this feeling that I should be on my way back up to the third floor for another round of treatment.  Another week of lasix, heavy chemo, and major fatigue.

Funny what you get used to when you bitch about not wanting to get used to something.

Maintenance has been slow going.  Every two weeks I am pulled off of something due to my white blood cell count being to low still, or my liver enzymes being to elevated.  At the present moment I am on nothing.  Which worries me slightly that I will have to stay on maintenance longer than anticipated, but my Oncologist assures me that I am doing just fine and not to worry.

And really, I’m not all that worried.  But it does sit in the back of my mind.  That all the progress I’ve made in the past few months, could be taken away from me once again.  Just like that.  One day I will wake up and there will be the petechiae all over my legs.  The incredible fatigue that was once so encapsulating.  The ache in my joints that left me immobile.  Being dumped on death’s doorstep once again.

Ok.  So I was never on the doorstep.  More like on the block.  But I got the fuck out of there, and I know I would get the fuck out of there again if I had to.  But I’m not going back there.

Ever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ramble On

I know.  I know I’ve been a total poo as of late.  Debbie Downer, all pessimistic and shit.  Jaded and bitter. 
My sense of humor dulled and watered….my outlook on life darkened.

I’m in an emotional rut.  My depression is getting the best of me.  Fucker.  I hate that guy. 

I’ve been trying to climb out of this hole it created….er…I created, and get back on my feet.  It’s not easy.  It’s hard to find rainbows and unicorns amongst all the dick cheese and grime of this world. (Haha…dick cheese…ehhhh….ewwww.)

There are truths I seek, and they all seem to lead to disappointing endings.  Or fallacies that were never truths to begin with.   Carefully guised in the form of subtle manipulation and insecurities.
It’s hard to, well for me anyways, to discern these truths as axioms or if they are just isolated to me.  Am I just the one with over the top expectations?  Am I stuck on “expectations”? Or is it hope? What’s the difference? This seems to be what I am stuck on as of late.

We all know that we should be open and honest.  Love unconditionally.  So why do some individuals find this to be so taxing?  Why is it so incredibly crushing when the trust you place in another human being is violated?
Why do I constantly set such high expectations?  Are these high expectations?
It’s not me…..It’s the other persons crap. I don’t need to carry it. Yet I do. How can I not when it does involve me….as in the way they treat me.

I miss the me I discovered a few years ago.  Sure sure, she was going through some major shit.  But she got through it.  With sass and perseverance.  Intention, even though she had no idea what the intent was or where it would take her.

Breathe in….breathe out…move forward with Intent.

Did I forget this?
Hmmm….
Or maybe what it all boils down to is that I dimmed myself down due to the insecurities of someone else.

Never dim people.

I dunno.  I’m a just rambling here.  Making no sense as usual.

Late Night Ramblings

I’m exhausted.  My brain hurts. I’m saying things and not even realizing what I’m saying.  Complete sentences just tumble out of my mouth with no conscious thought of their meaning.  Yet in my head all I hear is blah blah blah.  I’m so sick of my voice. 
I’m eating like shit.  Not making healthy choices.  Just grabbing whatever is fast and available.  My stomach seems to think that the only way to be satiated is with consuming greasy caloric laden foods.  My thighs and ass hate my stomach. 
My stomach doesn’t have to worry about being physically attractive to the opposite sex.  I mean, it gets to hang out inside of me….and what dude is turned on by stomachs?  Other than serial killers who like to disembowel  the innards of others?  I totally get why my ass and thighs hate my stomach.  My stomach is kind of a selfish asshole, not taking the rest of my body into consideration.  Just doing as it pleases.  Whining and grumbling for cheeseburgers.
Never mind the work the rest of the body has to do to work off that crap.

My boss….is an asshole.  I understand why her husband left her.  So many times today I wanted to tell her to go fuck herself and walk out…but where would that get me?  Rent is due….and I’m already a day late.

I want nothing more than to listen to the hymns and songs of insects and frogs that inhabit the night.
I missed the fireflies.
*sigh*

I want the life my cat leads.  I would gladly trade places for a life of no thumbs and licking my butt as long as it meant I get to sleep all day and not give a shit about anything except treats, food, that fast moving red dot, and a clean litter box.

I’m very on edge.
Flowers would be nice.  Just a little something.