Side Effects- Cancer Can Suck a Dick

I’ve had a headache now for about four days.  It hurts some days to sit up, let alone stand up.  I can’t have Tylenol.  Oxycodone makes me puke.  So you just sleep and hope it goes away.  Sometimes it does.. sometimes it doesn’t.

There is a whooshing sound in my head/ears.  Everything sounds tinny at times.  Listening to music sounds weird.  It’s become a point of why bother?

My throat became so swollen that I couldn’t talk or swallow.  I missed out on stuffing my face with lots of Thanksgiving goodness.  In fact my espohagus is still pretty sore when I swallow.  I have to still take tiny bites and chew and chew so I can swallow comfortably.  The Dr’s want me to start drinking that Ensure crap because they seem to think I have no appetite.  They are mistaken.  I can’t even begin to tell you how much I want all the food in my face.

My hair has begun to fall out.   Today alone I brushed the amount of a small Pomeranian off my head.  It just wouldn’t stop.  Tomorrow I am just shaving it off.  Ironically enough, every other body hair is hanging steadfastly on.

It’s really the above that is kind of driving me a bit batty.  Making me a bit whiny.   A lot whiny.  I feel at times that I’ve come so far, that all of the above is nothing compared to the grand scheme of things.    This is the cake walk.   The chemo is done.  I’m just biding time till I build back up my white blood cells to see where we are with things.   But it’s also the above that act like a mosquito in the room that attacks you while you’re asleep.  Flying by your ear, buzzing loudly and feasting upon your blood unbeknownst to you.  Leaving you to wake in the morning with itchy welts upon your skin.

Dick mosquito.

This has been the part of the journey that has been the most tested.  My patience at least.  I’m longing to get back to somewhat of what was my life before all this.  Especially the eating part.  I want food.  Did I mention this?  I’m kind of over being “sick” and dealing with all the side effects and treatments.  It’s old and boring and you know…I have stuff to do.

Yes.  Yes.  I knew there would be these…side effects.  Yes.  Yes.. I knew my hair would fall out.  But until it happens, you can never really gauge how you will react till you’re in that moment, pulling wad after wad of hair out of your brush asking when will it just stop coming out?   I think I am more upset at the rate it came out today.  Not that I’m actually losing it.  But we shall see how I feel tomorrow when the clippers come out.

But chin up.  Looking sharp I shall.  Cause that’s all one can do at this point.  I can’t get to defeated or too whiny.  It’s just a day.  And tomorrow is another day.  And each day, each moment actually, is just one more moment closer for me to not having to deal with any of this bullshit.

My recovery is now.  In fact my recovery started the moment I became sick.

And that’s the only way I choose to look at this.

This is my recovery.

This is all a part of my recovery.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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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.

Getting It off My Chest.

I’m not a happy theater camper these days.  The show I am doing is really starting to annoy the crap out of me, all due to the incredible amount of time suckage it has become and other little annoyances.  I know I bitched about this in my last post, but goddamn.  I need to get more off my chest.

Speaking of chest, let’s just jump right into that.

Rant #1

For whatever reason, the producer/costumer of the show thought it would be best if they make me wear a super sized padded bra under my costume, to play upon the “pair” that my character, which just so happens to be an Au pair, should, what they think, have.

She seems to find this hilarious.  I’m an Au Pair, and I have a pair, Oh my! What a pair!  Get it??  Pair of big fake boobs, playing upon the word Pair in Au Pair? (Anyone else getting this?? ) meanwhile, I feel like a Dolly Parton drag queen.  (With out the big hair and make-up.)

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I think she partially did this because the dress she pulled for me, made me look frumpy, and instead of just finding something that fits and accentuates my already there curves, shoving padding in my bosoms seemed like the natural thing to do.  I mean, who has time to look for a fitted dress, when you can waste lots of time sewing big fake boobs into one?

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(dumb)

I sort of expressed my dismay to both her and the director stating that I thought it looked unbelievably silly and unrealistic; however, the director thought it was a good costume choice and assured me that it did look good.  I have my own questions concerning him. . . He is a seemingly quiet little man with small feet and a foo foo lap dog.  And not gay.  (Not that there is anything wrong with that if he were)  The fact that he was gung ho about the fake boobage makes me wonder if he is 100% testosterone, and like any typical male response to big boosies, giving the thumbs up or if he is just trying to appear 100% testosterone.  (again, small feet and foo foo dog. . .makes me wonder.)

(Side note:  He does have a girlfriend. )

Since I don’t want to be the Diva of the cast, I simply sucked it up and said ok, and grumpily sulked back to the bathroom, where I scoffed once more at my ridiculous reflection.

I don’t know why I am so offended by this costume choice.  It’s not like I am very busty to begin with, but you know, my girls are pretty nice.  I’ve never had any complaints.  I can bust out of a top with no padding.  If it’s one thing I like about my body, it’s them.

Maybe that is why I am taking such offense to my over accentuation.  I know, I should just get over it, do my part and shut up about it. . . but really.  I feel like an asshole.  My inner feminist is probably being over sensitive to the mocking and over exaggeration of my breasts.  ( I could go on a Fem rant here, but I’ll save it.)

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(ehh, maybe it doesn’t look so bad from the front.)

Rant #2:

Again, this whole eating up of my time.  Yesterday was to be double rehearsal with a dry tech run starting at 1 p.m. and then a run through of the show afterwards in full make up and costume.

For those of you not familiar with dry tech, it’s where you go over the lighting and sound cues with the lighting and sound crew.  It’s not necessarily running the whole entire show, but more so a cue to cue, meaning you start a few lines before the lighting/sound cue comes in, let them mark where and what needs to be done, and then move on to the next sound/lighting cue.  Let me just point out, there are not a lot of lighting and sound cues in this show.

Given past experience with shows and how I have been privy to how double rehearsals usually go, I figured we should have be done and out of there no later than 7 o clock in the pm.

So imagine my total surprise and dismay when at 3:30, after we had finished the cue to cue and cleaned up some of the blocking, when the director announced that the next run though with costumes would start at 7pm.  That night.

WTF?

So not only have I had to give up 3 hours of my time a day(6 if you count the driving) for the past month, now I had to sit there for what. . .another 9 hours?  On a Sunday???  That’s some bullshit.

It would be different if I was getting paid for it, but I’m not.  So fuck you.

I wish I could pin point exactly why all these things are really grating on me.  Once again, I have been apart of shows with grueling rehearsal schedules and have had to wear uncomfortable ridiculous costumes in the past. I’m with a theater I have always had interest in working with and I seem to be doing alright with my part.

Why am I so curmudgeonly about this?

Am I becoming set in my ways and getting to a point where I don’t like my “routine” and what I am used to being messed with?  I will admit I  have gotten in the habit where I do like to be in bed by 11 now.  When this crept on me, I have no fucking idea.  This whole being responsible grown up, worried about getting enough proper rest to make it through the next day. . . Total bullshit.

Or Is  my Taurean nature to always be comfortable running a muck?

I have no idea.  I just don’t feel like traipsing about with stuffed boobs.

Move Over Mrs. Markham

I was asked to do another show.  I love when I don’t have to audition, because let’s face it, auditions suck ass.  Big Time.  Normally I seem to do pretty well when it comes to auditions, I mean, I nabbed the last couple of shows that I auditioned for, but it is always a nerve wrecking experience for me.  It never gets any easier.

 

Lately, I have been pretty blessed to have built up a reputation if you will among certain circles in the community theater world.  The last several shows I have been in have all been because I was referred to the director, or the director already knew my body of work.

 

This last case, I was referred to the director after one of their actresses had dropped out.

 

Hence how I came to be in this show.

 

I truly truly love theater.  The whole process.  From the rehearsals to the actual performance, it is such a journey of creative energy. 

 

Having said that though, there are still some shows, some actors I have worked with, directors, etc, that make the process a bit annoying.  Taxing almost.

 

I dare say that the schedule of this one would be my biggest bitch.

 

It’s not uncommon for shows to be total time suckages when it gets down to the wire and closer to the performance dates.  3 nights a week turn into 5 as the clock ticks down to opening curtain.

 

This show however, has just about been . . . 5 nights a week.  If not 6. 

Granted I came in maybe 2 weeks later than everyone else, and the part is not that big of a part (which only leads to my bitching about time suckage even more, because I am left just sitting around, when I could be out the door and on my merry way to doing something else.)

 

I truly have no time for anything.  The theater, while one that I had been interested in working with for awhile, is about 45 minutes from where I live, and 20 minutes from where I work.  This isn’t too bad, except that when I leave rehearsals at 10 o clock at night, I am not driving back to work.  I’m driving the hour back home, and by the time I get home, it’s pretty much lights out and repeat the next day.  Sleep.  Work.  Rehearsal. Sleep.  Work.  Rehearsal.  Throw in there time in my car, which I might as well just live in at this point.

 

I don’t think I would mind the 5-6 day rehearsing week, if I was done by 9 at the latest.  I think that’s reasonable.  (With the exception of tech week, because god knows what time you’ll get out on those nights.)

 

It makes for an impossible to keep up with my day to day “need to get dones.”  My apartment is a mess.  I still have a huge box of Halloween decorations cluttering up the kitchen that all need to be hung (which I doubt I will get around to finishing decorating.)  Dishes are piling up, the place needs vacuuming, the bathroom scrubbed, floors swept, crap that just needs to be put away where it belongs.

Whatever few precious minutes I do seem to collect before I hit the sheets are usually spent coming down from the day, collecting myself and trying to unwind, so that I can go to bed, and wake up early the next morning.

 

I don’t want to make it sound like I absolutely hate this aspect of theater.  I mean, at times, the time suckage serves it’s purpose, and I accept that this is part of the deal when one is doing a show.  You want it to be good, you gotta put in the hours, and sometimes during stressful points in my life, I relish the thought of doing a show, because it gives me an opportunity to focus on something else.  Something creative, and positive. Truth be told, the time suckage should be useful into pulling me away from obsessing about my personal life at the moment.  (Which I should point out has me stressed out beyond belief) but its not.  There just isn’t that solace this time around.  In fact I think it is adding more so to the stress.

 

I think another factor in my less than thrilled outlook on this show is, if I felt better about the direction of my character, then I wouldn’t mind this whole process as much.  God try as I might, I have no idea how to do a slight Swedish accent, which leaves me feeling very defeated.  I mean, the closest Swedish accent I can do, is the Swedish chef from the Muppets. . . and I don’t think my director would appreciate me running around the stage yelling “Bork Bork Bork!” (Though I would find it highly amusing)

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The cast of course, is incredibly talented (aren’t they always?  Well, ok, not always.) yet I sort of feel like an outsider to the group because of my late arrival being casted and the fact that I bolt out the door when we are done rehearsing so I can make it home by 11.

 

So that’s where I am with this one.  I know it will be a good show.  It’s with a good theater, good cast, good script. . .Should be good.

I just wish I had more time. 

 

But it’s only 3 more weeks of this.  I can make it . . . right?