Blogless in Santa Monica

Sorry I didn't make it yesterday. I got off to such a slow start that yesterday actually didn't start until today. But here I am and I just ate a cup of macaroni and cheese and now I'm on mac watch to see if the two of us are friends or if he's going to tell me he loves me and then make me spend the rest of the day in the bathroom wondering where we went wrong.

The guy who brought bratwurst to America died today. He was 92. How does a thing like that happen? I mean, this guy brought a sausage all the way from Poland to America and probably on a boat and you'd think it would lose it's flavor somewhere mid Atlantic and at least smell bad but he lands with his sausage and people say that's fabulous and he ends up with a half page obit. I've always said that what I would like on my tombstone would be a quote from a review I got years ago...Trish Soodik - "marvelously remote as the schizo."
Okay, I want you to raise your hands if this cancer stuff is boring you...Aha. I feel the same way. It's very odd, this period of time in between poisonings, where you have three weeks to get back to some semblance of normalcy, at which point they will poison you again. But I am trying to act like a normal person. Laughing. Haha. Laughing is good. Haha. Oh, I know that is completely phony but I'm trying. I am also trying to seize the day but you know, that is not so easy. I mean, I do appreciate the beauty and the kindness and the sweetness of little children, but when an asshole behind me honks even when the light is red, I am not enlightened enough to breath deeply and let it go. I want to jump out of the car and strangle him. I think that's a good thing, though, because without that you are a monk and since all I want to do is to get back to being me, suddenly becoming a monk would be very off putting. Hmmm, pudding, maybe I could eat pudding.
Here are two things lovely people who mean well do when you tell them what you've got...They 1.) Tell you all the things you should and should not eat. And
2.) They tell you about a relative who's had cancer. Yesterday, this sweet guy up at the pool told me about his sister who had a tumor at the back of her neck, and though she went blind, she is fine now. Was that supposed to make me feel better? She's blind! That is not a good thing. And then he told me about a friend who has been in remission for ten years and had almost every organ removed and he sits in a wheelchair all day and smokes pot and he's happy as a clam. I wanted to tie rocks to my feet and do what Tony Soprano's son couldn't do. What are people thinking? I know he thought of those as positive stories since those two people are still around...Sort of...But right now I am fairly healthy and the thought of going blind or pooping in a bag for the rest of my life is not encouraging. I just want to get back to being the same me who's been here for all these years. Not some new me who is all pasted and stapled together and stuffed with new straw like the Scarecrow. I'll bet that bratwurst man was happy as a clam. But truthfully, how happy can a clam actually be? Oh boy, this is when I know something is very wrong with me.

Hey, me and Mr. Macaroni seem to be getting along just fine. I believe I must count this as a red letter day. (And if you know what that means, please share.)