thisismydisease.com

seattle was supposed to get snow today. not us. we got it. seattle didn’t. i have a donut tire on my car (don’t ask). no radiation for me today. or pirate mask. or radiation mask. or any mask. i could use a little gifty though.

i have brain cancer. news later. now i have to breathe. and be silly.

went to be at the hospital. been sick. need home..

i have to make choices. write an email - or update my blog.

dear candance tagged me to reveal seven things about myself i tend not to talk about. hmmm…well, here goes nothing:

1. i don’t talk. well, ok, i do talk - but not much. i’m not very outgoing, so there’s no reason to talk. gods forbid, though, i happen to like you. you’ve been warned.

2. i HATE IT when someone sends out a link to something that is either dated, downright old - or a mix of both. i do my best to be as nice and civil as possible - but i would love nothing more to take my trusty 2 X 4 and have at it.

3.  i hardly ever change the channel from The Food Network, although i do admit i absolutely cannot stand most of the “chefs” that have gotten shows.i’m like a deer in the headlights.

4.  i have issues typing and seeing. i type like a moron (and cannot spell to save my soul) and i see double. i thought i saw double in the dark - but i see double most of the time, it seems. and i fall down because i see double. that might explain some things. of course we can just blame it all on the chemo. yeah. that’ll work.

5.  i love cooking; however most of what i eat tastes like cow poop. ‘doesn’t stop me, though. it does make my daily grocery bill rather high, though. organic strawberries anyone?

6. i used to make the most convoluted short films in the universe - things that required thought and thinking and all things brain-related. most people didn’t understand them, though. i’m convinced it’s all because most people have an iq of 85.

7.  i don’t like stupidity.

ok, well, that’s it.

next?

how ’bout barb? oh bar-rbbbbbb?

the doorbell rings.

i think.

i’m tired, groggy, woken up by what may really be the doorbell - or may just be some sort of imaginary noise in my head.

but i’m not about to find out.

i’m alone (save for little dog) and not about to find out something imaginary is really something real, or visa versa.

tiny doggie next door barks and barks. she’s a barky girl - but not that barky. i pee, crawl into bed, get comfortable, go back to sleep.

4 AM

the doorbell rings.

i think.

i’m tired, groggy, woken up by what may really be the doorbell - or may just be some sort of imaginary noise in my head.

but i’m not about to find out.

i’m alone (save for little dog) and not about to find out something imaginary is really something real, or visa versa.

tiny doggie’s daddy next door revs his truck’s engine. he normally gets up and out early, but not this early. i reposition myself on the wedge, watch a little unwrapped, fall asleep uncomfortable and wondering if the ringing doorbells were real, or was i just imagining things.

4 pm

i ran out to do a short errand and was greeting by a very somber neighbour. he introduced himself (as he always does, for whatever reason)  and told me:

another neighbour’s house was broken into last night. around 9:30. they found what remained - one  big mess - when they got back home…and the sheriff came…and he visited the neighbours to let them know, check around… and came back if he didn’t get a response.

we don’t talk.

i wave at them when i drive past on the way from the grocery, when i walk out to the post box, but they never wave back. keep to themselves. the guy on the corner - the other one that works from home and also doesn’t pay an already inflated price for a substandard service - we wave. we say hi. the old guy across the street from him - he waves and says hi. even tiny  girl’s parents wave and say hi. the direct neighbours, we don’t even talk about them. they talk. they say hi. they visit me to make sure i’m still alive, doing as well as possible, eating as best possible. they take care of me and they take care of little dog. and they corner run-away, scared beagle puppies that are afraid of the dark and react by running in circles scared as only puppies can be scared.

i love them.

the people that got robbed don’t talk, wave or say hi. it’s not what happened, though.  something happened to one of our very small group of residents, regardless of whether or not they talk or wave and despite the fact they don’t say hi. something very extraordinary happened to them.

i’m sitting here right now holding back yawns, trying to stay awake for just a little more time. robbery, no matter who gets robbed or why, is never easy on those left not to be victims. my heart goes out to these people  - and i hope that, someday soon, they’ll talk, wave and say hi.

and as for the as**h**es from ft. lewis, the very reason why this quiet neighbourhood i moved into a year ago has gone from not needing to even lock doors or windows to needing weasons (and i’m sure it’s even worse now that the over-abundant houses have gone to auction): next time i see you drinking beer on the golf course or  doing “something” in the middle of 54th i’m going to run you down like the rat you are and teach you a few things your mama didn’t but should have.