I've had a really wonderful past few weeks. I helped out at a snake show for a bunch of kids - watching their fear change to wonder as I gently patted enormous boa constrictors and milksnakes was pretty terrific. I fell in love with my husband about a billion times. I checked out some dinosaur skeletons with some great friends in the snowy north, ate french toast with a group of beautiful geniuses, held a christmas party in which we put as much icing and sugar on cookies as possible AND THEN ATE THEM, and spent a very long time with my wonderful sister and parents and enjoyed every moment. I feel luckier than 99% of the world.
And then today I woke up angry.
I don't want to rage and storm in front of people I love. I don't rage and storm in general. I'm not saying this is the best way to be; it's just a product of how I grew up.
But I need to get it out somewhere, so I'm going to vent to my blog.
Screw you cancer. Screw you for for hanging over my every moment with my loved ones. Screw you for worrying my husband. Screw you for ruining everyday sayings like "see you next year" or "when you're an old lady" or "as your career develops" or "wait 'till you see her when she's older".
Screw you for making my cancer patient friends bear absolutely massive amounts of pain, in silence, in their bedrooms behind perfectly ordinary-looking walls.
Screw you for conscripting us for your war, regardless of age or situation, and for randomly giving us easier or harder jobs, more or less cash, better or worse medical care.
Screw you for making it so hard for me to plan for the future.
Know what, you bastard? The last few weeks have been a big screw you to you. Forget life being a half-full cup. I'm just permanently holding the kettle over my cup, and so that the water is spilling all over the floor, and there are little hot chocolate marshmallows in the widening pool. I'm going to put as much as I can into the time you've given me, because it's the only thing I know how to do.