Well, maybe. I’ve had a stiff neck and headache since last night, and I can’t seem to get my head situated on any pillow correctly. And I have a larger selection of pillows than a bedding store at this point. This always makes me think, “Brain tumor”. Cancerland, where every symptom is a landmark.
It’s 100 degrees and cloudy, and the pool is cooler these days. We no longer run the pump during the day (thereby heating the water with the sun-warmed coils) due to the high cost of electricity between 12 and 6pm. The sun, while still very bright, now also wanes in its orbit. Hurray for more shade, but it’s still bloody hot. I liked 86 degree water quite a bit. Below that pretty much takes my breath away. Yes, I’m a wimp (the days of swimming in snow melt and diving in cold darkness are pre-history).
So I’m indulged by air conditioning, in my underwear, cooking fruit and pondering the whole bucket list thing once again. I caught the tail end of last night’s Stand Up To Cancer broadcast, wherein Tim McGraw sang some song about “living like you’re dying”. I don’t imagine many terminal survivors savoring their last moments in quite this manner, but I guess I can laugh at the thought when I’m on my death bed. Mostly, if these are the last figs I get from my father’s trees (as he is as close to death as I, at least), I will have preserved them for a bit longer, and that’s close to my heart. There is fig chutney (a success, Mum says), fig-orange jam, fig compote, and a peach salsa that’s more of a relish, I’ve decided… I admit to wasting some fruit – just too busy to put them up in time. Oh well.
My house is still a mess from the onslaught of company in August. I’ve read the first book of the Hunger Games trilogy. I’ve somehow fallen out of the mood to make it through the second season of Downton Abbey. Feel kinda lazy, probably because the heat and lack of shaded walking areas in proximity have turned me into a flabby sloth, along with all the fast food I’ve eaten since moving here. I disgust myself and am repenting, starting Labor Day. I’m exercising (today’s walk in 9am heat/sun almost killed me but I’m trying)! Eating at home (continuing the struggle to find good food…)! Trying very hard to smile and not complain…
Someone told me when I was first diagnosed that I could finally say NO and “stop taking shit” from people. I find this to be an untruth. I have to listen to people bitch about all sorts of things, yet I can’t do the same because then I’m being negative or complaining (even if in theory, I have a reason to be). I have to be jolly and act like I’m okay, or at the very least, be stoic and not mention how crappy I feel. I can’t be sad, I have to be diplomatic, I can’t really be honest. And it appears I have to censor myself on this blog as well. So peculiar. Anyway, whatever. Trying to make lemonade and all that. Definitely getting old.
So, back to thinking about that bucket list while I’m semi-healthy. Maybe another month left on this joyride?
My sister-in-law’s husband (does this make him a BIL?) has been in the hospital, on life support for two weeks, not looking good. Kidneys failing, blood pressure very low, co-morbidities. Complex situation. He’s 34, I think? The entire family is now on vigil in North Carolina. I wish I could help somehow —
Life is strange, isn’t it?