Whenever I leave my apartment, people that know bits of my story ask how I am doing now. Depending on the depth of our relations, the conversation can range from a nod with an accompanying smile OR a lie. I feel like I have to lie to make people feel better about asking. They want me to feel better, so I tell them that I do, which I do to an extent. I am not going through chemo or radiation. Bonus. I do not have a bucket of pee to carry with me everywhere. Super Duper. And yet. It is hard for people to understand why I am up and trying to be normal while still feeling like crapity crap. But what else is there? I lie at home either in bed or on the couch for as long as I can, waiting. But waiting for what? I go about my business, running errands like every other busy human body, cruising through the traffic with my newly made Scissor Sisters CD from my lovely J.D. and I can't stop smiling. Yeah, my hair is a mess and my insurance agent that only remembers me by my bunnies' names gave me one look and said "I don't mean you look bad, but you don't look good." After, I flitted away with the music carrying me over the weight of my body and the heat and as I stopped at a light, I looked up and a flock of birds was leaving their perch from the top of the Court House. All I felt was freedom... the music, the car, the wings.
I don't need to lie, pretend or wait.