Ahhh. Ye olde Tamoxifen Alarm has rung...

Normally, if convenient, I will jump up and take my nightly Old Lady Pill.

I just hit snooze. I could have hopped up for my Scooby Snack, but I'm getting sick of my achy joints, my bone density at level dust, my mood swings swinging harder than any "jazz cat", my excessive grey hairs which seem to be multiplying at an alarming speed (thank goodness for natural-ish hair dye, but shoo, it's messy and costly and just lame!), my scale which surely is broken - in the last week I gained 5 pounds LITERALLY overnight and haven't been able to budge from it - which is still a hairball under my stress weight pre-tamoxifen, but still. I worked hard to get the needle down to my ideal weight, and 5 pounds doesn't sound like a lot to most, but I basically gain weight in my midsection. I don't gain it in the good places. I literally turn into a ball. I'm not there, but I hate that I can't get back to my happy weight. Just 5 pounds. PLEASE. I haven't been on my "a" game, but I haven't exactly been misbehaving, either! We'll see how tomorrow works out - though we're having a party here. Turkey and stuffing and oxtail stew and pies and shit. I haven't cooked like this since perhaps last year's Thanksgiving Misfit Glutton Fest. I LOVE to cook, but my nerves are a bit much this year. I broke a huge glass dispenser. Several other things have gone awry. I think this tamoxifen makes me jumpy like a kangaroo on Red Bull. If something falls from a cabinet, I scream like someone is coming after me with a machete. What gives? Not that I was ever the essence of calm, but sheesh. Anyway, we did ok in setting up as much as we could for tonight - though the freaking pumpkin muffins are calling my name. And asking if butter can come along for the ride. I had a few today - with my miso soup - and after… I decided that a healthful dinner for my frazzled nerves would be Inka and Schmailey's. I have a thing for fake Bailey's - somehow they seem to taste better (and cost less) than the "original". Anyway, I was correct. It was warm and delicious and calmed me down a bit. I'm still a kangaroo, but the Red Bull has left the building.

I know. I should take the freaking TamoxiPoison. Because I want to live. But the side effects, which folks swore would level out after 2 months? Um, it's been almost 10 and it's just getting worse. It's like not studying for a particular class, and by the time you get to the final exam, you can't win. That cumulative crap is something else. I would love to go off the meds for a few months, clean it out of my temple, and kind of give it another shot. Maybe it interacted with the radiation. Maybe that Hulk shit is real.

Except for that part. Yeah, I'm working out. And ok, I don't look bad for an old, cancerous broad. And, no, you can not call me a broad. Or call me abroad - because I always turn my cell service off to avoid the charges. Crap, see? This tamoxifen makes my brain all wonky. Anyway - I'd take the green skin if I could be that bangin'. But all I seem to have is the Hulk TamoxiRage. 

Well, damn, I guess it's time to take my poison and stuff a pound of butter under the turkey skin. Yeah. That's one of my tricks. People think turkey is so healthy - but the truth? If you get turkey that actually is moist and delicious, chances are there is a crapload of butter and oil rolling in it. We only cook it once a year. I'm not a huge fan of it - but my cranberry chutney… mmmm. And seriously, you can't compete with oxtail stew. Hulk Crush. But I'll never give away my secrets - actually I'm full of crap. This deliciousness is my recipe. I do it in a huge slow cooker. I had oxtail stew for breakfast in Indonesia and, as I often do, I was determined to make it at home. This is the closest I could get. It was sweet. Heck, it was breakfast! All the other chumps on tour ordered omlettes and pancakes and crap. I asked the waiter what his favorite dish was there (we were at the Ritz - sounds great until you realized that there was a mass shooting weeks before, so we weren't allowed to leave because the shit was way too dangerous!)

But, I got this great recipe from that trip. Or, the idea to figure it out. Because it is stupid good.  Back to that butter-stuffed turkey… 

TAMOXIRAGE!!!

GRRRRR.

Holy crap. I'm not even bi-polar on this shit. Can you be tri-polar? Or more?

Multi-polar?

I admit, we had a really late night. Actually I think my head hit the pillow at 4am. It was fun, but damn. And for the past few weeks, I've said at least daily: "I'm going to punch someone in the face today". Of course, I'm not violent, but this stuff? This hormone altering pill? Makes you want to punch someone in the face.

I luckily have kept my fist at bay.

First it was the guy on the airplane who, upon my reclining of my seat, started to push it and complained that his knees were crushed. I kept my smile on, and got upgraded. Not mad about stretching my legs out for the entire flight. The flight attendant kept offering me a drink - I think she wanted to get me drunk, but I was fine. I told her that I needed a cup of coffee, and that I was glad that I was ME and not HIM, who was having a crappy day. I didn't tell her that I have cancer - I mean, what's crappier than that?

Yeah. I'd rather be a cancerous woman than a cranky old man. So I guess I'm still ahead of the game.

Anyway, back to today. I woke up around 8 and tossed and turned until 10. Finally got up. Washed my hair. Tried to be productive, which was dumb. Considered going to the gym, but the bed seemed like a better choice, so I sent hubby to pump iron without me.

After all that? We haven't had date-night time in a long time, but damn, if I couldn't get my brain out of my bitch funk. Finally I had some yogurt and blackberries, to help my blood sugar. A big glass of iced coffee, courtesy of hubby - who really tries hard to help. There is just so much that you can do to help a tamoxi-raging woman. Seriously. It's dangerous territory. Tread carefully, people.

But, I got it together enough to hit the diner. We considered something fancier, but I didn't want to "waste" a lovely experience. The diner? F'ing amazing. Fried calamari, and then we split a cobb salad and a reuben sandwich. Only in NYC. That sandwich is the devil. I think I might allow one a year now - it's something I never ordered before, but it all sounded like a cure for some horrible mood swinging.

IT WORKED! A Christmas Miracle! The Reuben Hormonal Rage Cure! I am hoping to get a grant to study this further, perhaps have the FDA approve my Emergency Reuben Packets. In case of tamoxirage, break glass.  Before you punch someone in the face. Mmmm.  Thank you, Reuben.

I think my blood sugar was part of the problem, but still - there's a reason that they prescribe an anti-depressant along with this crap. I don't want to take anything more, but if this shyte continues, I can't afford the Reuben calories often. Oh, because tamoxifen makes you fat, too.

Some days, cancer is more appealing than the "cure".

2 more shows!

Then… home! SALAD! APPLES! Contraband foods as a visitor will be extra delicious. In fact, we have a plane transfer in the states and I hope there's time to grab a salad for flight #2!

I'm SO tired. Soundcheck was early, before noon, then we went out for an absolutely fantastic lunch (I had some sort of shrimp on a tortilla smothered in cheese and bacon… WHAT?) I ordered a coke, and the waiter asked if I wanted diet. My response? "Why? Am I fat???" Ah, I guess the "thin" girls are notorious for ordering diet crud. I was one of them, and I NEVER drink soda, but I'm tired of drinking bottles of water here. Plus, I'm tired. And they don't use corn syrup.

We also had dessert - I had some ice cream thing, I thought he said peach but the shell looked other-worldly, so I think it may have been a passion fruit sort of thing. Regardless, it was delish and not too sweet.

Went back to the hotel and changed into my bikini. Sat by the pool. About an hour - I definitely got tan lines but don't want to get over-sunned on a gig day. Brain and face might not work if I OD!

So tired. Luckily, it's 5pm here and our call is 9pm, dressed and ready. So I'm going to pretend to try and nap for a few hours. It might help.

PS. There's no gym. So I guess it's my day off. Might do some abs in the room, and I did bring a stretchy band to "lift", but I'm just beat.

2 more shows… tomorrow is going to be rough, but on that last show day, I can do ANYTHING.

xoxo

On the road again...

… and, magically - 6 days late, I got my period!

Whoopie!!!  Yeah, remember? I'm on that heinous Tamoxifen. The one that is tricking my body into acting 30 years older. Well, I was wondering why I was craving so much damned sugar, salt and fat. Besides just being human, that's what it was!

So, I've been out of town for 5 days. Worked out every day. Not to out-do my ravenosity. But, it's ok. I'm doing the right stuff that I can, and tonight, I'm staying in. I made an executive decision. Ghetto-rita from the convenience store, along with gummy candy and some nuts. My uterus hates me, but this comfort food is helping. Hoping to fall asleep and STAY asleep - every night I've spent sleeping and waking in spurts of a few hours at a time. Considered napping mid-day, but decided on a walk instead. Which resulted in said snacks. Better than room service - I can't eat produce anyway (except the lovely orange-like fruit I had earlier, thank goodness for peelie fruit in unsafe water territories!) I'm hoping to find an English speaking movie - the typhoon news on CNN is thoroughly depressing and awful. I hate feeling helpless, don't you? I wish that relief would find them faster. People are dying. Shit.

If I can't sleep, off to the treadmill I will go. I detest cardio, but have lifted weights thoroughly, daily. Something tells me that I will find comfort behind my eyelids tonight. Perhaps once I reach the bottom of this margarita. And a melatonin or two if needed.

The nice thing about being on tour - I have very little responsibility compared to real life. I can't clean my house. I can't scrub floors. I can only practice my instrument, wander the town if it's safe, show up on time for soundcheck and gigs, be there for lobby calls, remember to pack everything up when leaving a hotel. And this is why it's good that I no longer tour for longer periods of time. It's a good rest for my brain, but not so much that I forget how to be ME at home, to me and my family.

Off to channel surf. Wish me luck on that sleep deal!

Beautiful frozen birthday cake. RIP.

I had a big chunk of cannoli (minus the cannoli) birthday cake in the freezer. Because I love cake and can't seem to throw out food I love.

However, having asked my daughter and husband if they "want any cake" (meaning, I wanted it!) for the past couple of months with no takers, I finally broke down and sliced a piece off tonight for dessert. I'm uber-hormonal. I figured, why not? And as I indulged in the creamy frosting, the fluffy cake, I realized - I don't need this shit.

So, I threw the rest out. After I practically licked the plate clean. Whatever. I'm hormonal. And I have cancer. I might die tomorrow!

But, I managed to tip the container over in the garbage can to hear an audible, sad, and calorie saving "THUNK". And I felt good about my decision, luckily... otherwise, I can picture myself digging through the garbage to see if I can salvage the hunk of cake. Maybe I could slice away the sides and save the inside. Ew.

There it is. Perhaps I AM growing up. My willpower has been a bit teeter-totterish recently, though I've kept my weight hovering below or on point with my pre-diagnosis weight. Not without effort - it takes SO much work to remain my size with the tamoxifat. But, I'd rather live and be thin, than live and be fat, or go off the meds to make my weight issues easier... and die.

Sometimes, when I look at the situation realistically, or at least in black-and-white, I realize that I have choices. Life is like that, but when you have an illness? Shoo. The crap is in technicolor, but there still is a "good vs. evil" vibe.

Good - stay on stupid meds that may have kept my mom alive for more than she was here. Perhaps she could have seen me past my 18th year on the planet. Perhaps she could have seen 51 herself. But, at least I painted her nails for the first time, at 49. Bright red. I remember it well. Her nails were black from the years of chemo. I finally showed up with a bottle of fire engine red polish and told her she couldn't fight me on it. I mean, at that point - it's not like she was afraid of getting cancer from nail polish! (Disclaimer: I now use all natural cosmetics, including nail polish). Because I don't want any more damned cancer than I have. But she was dying. And we knew it.

I also remember visiting her the day before one of her millions of surgeries. I brought her black lace panties. She laughed - my Very Conservative Mother thought it was hysterical. And, in my 17 year old mind, I had no idea that you don't wear any undies during surgery! But, she appreciated the thought and thought I was a hairball crazy. But, I am her daughter. We were/are different kinds of crazy. She was very rebellious considering her upbringing. Me? Well, I'm rebellious in my own special ways. Never to harm anyone, but just to enjoy life. And really, I'm a homebody and a loner like she was. Nobody guesses from my profession, but it's true. In a noisy situation I'll look for a quiet space, or simply crawl into a little crevice in my brain and hide until the noises calm down. My daughter is the same.

I was on TV yesterday! I missed part of it, since we don't have tv, but caught some online. Now the whole show is online, but I watched enough. I guess I've done it enough times, and while it's exciting, always, I just am too busy and tired to really get caught up. Plus, the mix sucked.

But my girls looked great! Nobody would guess that I had a big bag o' stuff in that dress! It's nice to look and see that I look "real".

Real cancerous.

I admit that I miss having 2 actual breasts. Not that I really needed them anymore, functionally, but it's weird to not feel one side. And not be able to do pushups. Or flys. Dips are challenging, because my foobie crumples up like someone balling up a piece of paper to throw when the teacher's back is turned.  So I just make sure that nobody is looking (except me - I can't help it! It's right there!!!)  And my triceps will NOT die because of this cancer shit. I am not going to have a flabby tricep like this! My great grandma, at a thousand years old, was adorable and spunky and thin, but boy, her triceps pretty much hung to her knees. No, thank you.

So, that's it. My vanity has helped my quest in keeping healthy. Cake in garbage. Triceps intact.

Will be south of the border in a few days for some gigs. I love traveling, but hate the thought of not drinking a lot of water (bottles sealed, please!) and eating NO PRODUCE. Jebus. I am the produce queen. I know I can probably bring my own apples. I heard a hilarious story about someone I know who recently got stopped for an apple in his bag. It was apparently not from Mexico, but imported from the US and forgotten about. He argued with the officer. Finally, he was told that "this apple lost it's citizenship when you flew into Mexico". Come on, that shit is hysterical!!! I'm still laughing about that. Perhaps I will pack a stash in my bag - 10 days without live enzymes is a long time. Let's hope Montezuma is not seeking revenge...