Can We Talk?

May I please say something?

(Yes, of course I can. This is my blog. See, that is how guilt ridden I am. I have to ask permission to talk because I think I will say something that might offend somebody and that would be awful. I'm sorry. Honestly, I am not talking about you.)

There are people out there (not you) who seem quite goulish about other people's woes. And they (not you) seem to be a bit put off when you (me) seem to be handling things with aplomb. (Or a plum.) They think I am in denial. They think I am not talking about my "real" feelings. I've thought about this a lot. And this is what I've decided...My real feelings are beyond boring. Hmmm, should I grill a turkey burger tonight? With onions? Should I do my laundry today or tomorrow? Should I watch The Seventh Seal tonight in honor of Ingmar?...So those are my real feelings, as much as I can connect with them. And the cancer part...there's really nothing to talk about. It's there and then hopefully it won't be there. I am not scared and I am not really concerned. Because I am alive right now, today, and what else is there?

And don't get me wrong, I am so glad I am alive today but there was this guy on a motocycle next to me who put his greasy hand on my car door to steady himself at a stoplight and I cannot get his stupid glove print off the door! Pisses me off. But I'm alive. Even though I went to buy a ceiling fan and this guy loaded it into my car and when I took it out it of the car the box seemed awfully light and when I opened it, it was empty. So I had to drive back to the store and blahblahblah. But I'm alive. Today, I am alive. And I am really going to try not to complain.

So the Iraqis won the European soccer tournament and that was wonderful for them. They needed some good news. And what was the first thing the captain of the team said when he won? That he couldn't wait for the Americans to leave and that he was afraid to go home. Wow. I am waiting for someone to suggest a brilliant way we can help these people get their country back in order.

I was thinking about Nora Ephron and her neck. I think that after a certain age, if you look in the mirror more than two minutes in the morning and two at night, you are obsessing. I have no idea what my neck actually looks like. I wash my face in the morning and in the night and when I do that I am not wearing my glasses so I am but a blur in the mirror. Kind of like that vaseline on the lens look directors used to give Marlena Deitrich. (Did I completely misspell her name? Did I misspell misspell?) Everyone I know looks great. I don't think when I was growing up I ever heard a single man or woman talk about how they looked? That their neck was sagging. They were just glad they weren't dead or sick or something. Now, of course, the next time you see me your eyes are going straight to my neck. "Oh my gosh, she's sort of jowelly looking, isn't she? (Did I missssspellll jowelly?) She should think about a neck job."

Maybe Ms. Ephron is right. Maybe I should wear my glasses when I wash my face. Please don't look at my neck. I'm going out now to buy a turtle neck sweater.

But I am alive, neck and all. And that's the good news. Except for this guy who......................