I’ve washed and cut my hair again, overwhelmed by the burning sensation from the Tarceva rash on my scalp. (I think the Minocycline’s effectiveness has ceased) I’ve had coffee and breakfast, watched Nigella Lawson and Tyler Florence, sorted through 10 years worth of saved recipe clippings, and now…well, now I really must contemplate cleaning the house.
Hubby’s been gone for a month, and while I miss him terribly, his absence has afforded me the time to diddle with the blog migration from Vox, sleep in, do very little in the way of laundry, dishes, and cooking, in short, relax a bit. I don’t know why I do it, but when he’s home, I feel I must prove industrious—because I don’t work, I’ve got to show that the combination of housework and cancer survival must somehow equal his financial support. It’s silly, I know, but I don’t want to aggravate the feeling of his constant work and my constant staying at home. Both are tiring, but it’s probably difficult for him to see how staying at home could be difficult (it’s the cancer part that is, obviously. The part where you know you can’t be cured and you have to do everything in your power to keep going and hopefully maintain the current state of limbo.)
So it’s another gorgeous fall day. The past month has been a miracle of good weather, finally, after a miserably cold summer. I think I might bake at some point today or tomorrow, but I shouldn’t waste the day inside. So, out I go, to do my last bit of thinking about stuff, about doom and gloom, and wonder if I have time to take a trip to Italy and England before the other shoe drops.
Walking the line between wishing for more time and good health and trying to imagine a decline (which is only trying to be realistic) is strange and taxing. I’ve had 4 years, but I’m still not ready. I’ve said it before (and it bears repeating)—I don’t think you can really be ready when you feel okay. I think you can only really prepare when the sh*t starts hitting the fan. Until then, you just want to live it up, I think. You can’t help yourself, can you? I’m sure it’s just the person I am, waiting until the last minute to do everything. Old habits die hard.