Cravings...

Weird. I'm craving a cigarette right now. I mean, REALLY craving it. I haven't touched a cigarette in probably 15 years. Maybe I snuck one here and there, but yeah. Craving. The whole act of it. Why?

I am hormonal. I did just finish almost all of the chili dark chocolate. I saved a square, maybe tomorrow I'll need it. It's not that spicy but it gives me ideas for baking.

But, I digress.  Yes. I'd love a few cancer sticks. Ironic, no?

I'm in SUCH a mood today. I blew up at my man right before he left for work. Sometimes shit just builds up and it's like an invisible practitioner sneaks up and gives you a brain colonic and all that shit just runs out of your face. I also do have PMS. But, I think with the cancer stress, the not working stress, the fear of people in the industry finding out too soon, the fear that I will never fully recover, or my expander will pop, or I will need radiation or chemo, or they will never find a cure and my daughter will live as I have, as my mom and her sister and my cousin have...

The good news? We put up our tree. It's about a 10 minute ordeal to pull it out of the bag in the closet, attach the feet, and set it on a table. The fluffing of the branches is kind of fun. The lights are pre-attached. Yeah. I rock. I never did get the whole thing about buying a real one, dragging it into the apartment, trying to fit it on those stands and remembering to water it so the apartment doesn't burn dow, the needles falling off, and finally - dragging the damn thing outside with a trail of needles, having to clean up all the needles afterwards, and then, you REALLY do it all over? Every year? No thanks. I much prefer my pre-lit forever symmetrical mini tree on a kiddie card table. There's tons of room under for gifts. And the cats can't get to the tree unless they REALLY piss us off.

So there's that.

Now, to figure out teacher gifts. And by teacher we include some other important personnel. I'm still waiting for any sort of disability payments. Apparently things got mucked up in the storm, and hells, I just hope I get the checks in this lifetime. Meanwhile, 2 starving artists, one with cancer. We're thinking of baking for everyone - pumpkin bread is my girl's favorite. We'll see how it all goes...

Stress. Agh.

Fuck.

Hate it.

But I'm SO happy that I haven't needed another fill! I mean, amazing!!! We go back on Tuesday when we know the Hulk Plan, A.K.A. whether we will radiate, or - hopefully, when we will rebuild my bionic boob. Fart putty? Fembot style? Or just *regular*?

I was at the gym and walked down the stairs behind a woman, older than me, very thin, with huge fake boobs. They looked surreal especially from above - they didn't move. Everything else did on her body, her face. And I thought, ok... I want regular. So this damned humungous expander is in here, stretching the hell out of my girl part, or where it used to be.

Ironically, I caught a special on TV while cardioing, about "plastic surgery gone wrong!" and I thought, wow. This woman went on a "surgical vacation" and came back thoroughly messed up, but also has lost her job because of this and has incurred so much debt to try and fix it. This other woman can't blink now. And sleeps with her eyes wide open. Seems she'll be blind soon. And I think - thank goodness nothing went wrong. My ex, upon hearing that I had cancer, suggested I go overseas for my surgery. Why? I actually have insurance, and we live in one of the major cities out there - excellent medical care all around. But yes, I should go overseas, to a strange land with a language I don't speak.

Naw. I'm cool with my top notch docs under my insurance.

I got the bill the other day. Mindblowing what is charged. I get it, for some things. The docs deserve a lot. And I know hospital overhead is ridiculous. But... wow. I would be letting my tumors grow and fester if I didn't have coverage.

And how many women have no coverage and know that tumors are growing, that their clocks are ticking... and they can't do a thing about it?

No matter how bad shit gets, it seems we can find a reason to breathe. Until we give up on life. I'm not ready.

It's almost 2am. I should go to bed, I can barely keep my eyes open. But hubby is out and I can watch his gig on my laptop. So here I sit, wishing I could tell him how great he sounds, how proud I am, how I can't imagine life without him. I hope he can feel me. I hope he can feel me a lot more than I can feel my fake boob.  We were talking and I thought it bumped into him but I couldn't tell. Glad it was him - but how awkward might that be in the future? Hence: fart putty boob. It's like a warning signal!