Well, my flight(s) were cancelled. While I'll miss the fun times and the paycheck, I'm glad to be grounded at home rather than struggling to get to the airport early tomorrow, most likely to be turned away since SO many flights have been cancelled already! We're apparently rescheduling the concert - by we I mean they, and hopefully I will remain "first call" by then (and I only say this because I was recently told of my status). Does it mean anything? Not really. Does it feel good? Of course. So I'll be first call until whenever. I hope to hang onto it for as long as the act stays intact. But - the good news, I was petrified to get on stage and shake my groove thang. I was afraid that the costume would rub against my burn. That my skin would peel off like a banana. Mmmm. Banana flambe. Though it's more like melon, but the whole skin peeling reference loses it's shimmer.
Well, there goes an almost funny moment down the toilet.
The silvadene seems to be working ok. But I woke up in terrifying pain last night thinking that my arm had snapped off at my burnt pit. You know, when you roast a chicken and snap off the leg and thigh combo? That's what I had pictured as I lay in bed 97% asleep, wincing in pain. I am wondering if some bag balm tonight might be in order - perhaps on top of the silvadene, to keep it a little more goopy so that my skin doesn't completely dry out like last night. I'm having a bit more peeling, but not a ton.
This snowstorm is so interesting. There's no snow in our streets now. I know other areas are hit hard, but being in a busy section of a busy city, the plows are driving around dragging on concrete. *CRINGE* I assume they're throwing salt around, too. I'm just glad to not be flagging a cab down early tomorrow - it would never happen, especially if the snow does what the weather people are anticipating!
So I over ate, due to my hormone insanity at the moment. The interesting thing is that my PMS seems to be less and less emotional. Perhaps the radiation is zapping my anger right out of me through the peeling skin. But damn, I'm hungrier than ever. A typical phrase that I use for about 2 weeks a month (and for those of you who are mathletes out there, that would be 50%!): "I'M SO HORMONAL!"
Luckily for hubs, that does not usually mean frying pans being hurled at his nuts. Usually it's me hunting for candy and chips.
I think I doubled my caloric intake tonight. That combined with the lack of exercise will surely work it's magic on my girlish figure. You'd think that the radiation team practically lighting my breast on fire every morning would burn a few extra calories, no?
No.
Well, shit. So I'm fat and burnt and hormonal. At least I have my health. Oh, crap.
The good news about cancer: I've increased my alcohol tolerance. Now I can handle more than 2 thimbles full of wine in an evening. Is that an accomplishment? I'll drink to that.
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