Duality

Duality

Better to have bad luck than no luck at all.

Do you really create your own luck?

The yogis say yes, but I disagree.

Sometimes you wake up with the proverbial bluebird on your shoulder only to have it shit all over you for the rest of the day.

Or maybe, you live and work like a slave in NYC through another brutally hot summer with no hope of escape.  Somehow I have chosen this?

Case in point

Slept in today which felt really good.  Like a kid on a Sunday, I was able to breathe at last.  I had the day off, not only from working, but from chemo as well.

Chemo will be for the rest of my life, which apparently isn’t too much longer- apparently-

Anyway-

As I drink my fabulously forbidden coffee I feel better and better.  The building super came up and replaced my light bulbs in the hall, which have been dark since 4 days after moving in.  He didn’t even charge me!  I win at last.  These ceilings are over 7 ft. high.  A luxury problem.  

Then I open some bills.  Tons of money hemorrhaging from my poorly bank account.  Don’t stress.  Yogic thinking.  Money is energy, you will make it back.  Keep the focus strong, keep working toward your goal.  Pay what you can but be responsible.  Take charge.  Work smart, keep the rhythm.  Keep going.

Then total panic again.  This goes on for hours.

I notice there is a work function I signed up for weeks ago, not a paid gig but one that will secure a better partnership for a freelancer like myself.

Gone are the ideas of doing laundry, picture hanging or any type of domestic improvement or relaxation.  Gone is my whole afternoon off.  Said event is an hour away by heinous subway.

I go.

I show up and pay attention.  With every fiber in my chemo addled brain, I do not want to do it.  I am sufficiently tired, angry and stressed.  I am crying over how ugly I am already, a side effect not only of ageing but of seven years of constant struggle with cancer.  Hair thinning, face sagging and everything happening 10x faster thanks to hormone suppressants, my body thinks I’m 65.  Estrogen causes me to have deadly cancer.  You do the math.

I arrive at the event.  I am attentive and friendly-at least I think I am.  The party turns out to be poorly planned and myself and one other person attend.  I cannot leave.  I make the best.  I engage, listen, tell stories, laugh, joke and bring food to the party.

Such a liar.   I hated the idea of going to this thing in the first place and yet was able to be present once there.  I like these people very much but know in my heart of hearts they are only laughing at me.  The stupid, old, ugly cancer girl.  This is why I hate everyone and never want to leave my apt.

But, I digress.

Moving on.

My scholarly and awesome girlfriends are hanging out in a spot on my way home and I want to see them.   I miss my friends.  This cancer will isolate you more than you will ever know.   I choose to go.

I jump on an uptown train cringing that it’s already 5pm, only to discover– there is an “earlier investigation” meaning jumper.  Someone has inconsiderately jumped to their’ death during rush hour.

Jerk.

My “express” train drags along at a snails pace while local trains will not run at all.  I panic again, jumping across tracks (via stairs-thank you) at stops never intended.

Fuck it-going home.

Lately, I have constant pain.  Spine, liver and chest.  Bones ache, even my jaw.  Can barely breath and there is a charley horse in my chest that never goes away.  Bones are breaking in slow motion thanks to tumors growing larger inside them.  Sternum has sharp, shrieking pain and the chemo leaves me with joint and bone pain, totally awful.  I do not take anything for it.  I have had a headache since 2005.  Shall I become a junky too?  I tell no one about this.  Who wants to hear whining?  Not me.

Yogic thinking keeps me somewhat sane, yet makes me feel insane for being in so much fucking pain and lying about it.   I cannot deal.  Nor can anyone else.

I chose this?  Are you fucking kidding me?

I do so much to make it better but at this point I am done.  Fuck these people that think we have done this to ourselves.  I cannot do it.  I hate everyone.

Duality.

FINALLY- a local train pulls into the station on the other side of the tracks.  Shit-

run up the stairs, over and down again, get the local heading back downtown.  All the while carrying 5 lbs of dog food purchased at my downtown shop.  What an idiot.

I trudge 4 long ass blocks uphill in July heat and I’m finally at the restaurant.

I forgot my water bottle.  Too heavy for my apparently broken spine.  Perfect!

90 minutes later I arrive at my destination.  Yippee!

We have a great time.  A glass of wine with my wonderful friends, a bit to eat (got dizzy) and I’m out.  I get to the subway this time-I hear the train a-comin and I bolt, trying to keep the flip flops on my feet- but just as I swipe….

Insufficient fare.

The End