The rain

It’s pouring cold rain here in Ottawa. That’s the forecast for the entire week, however next week on the Tuesday is going to hit 20 degrees, and I couldn’t be more pleased.  I’ll have to plan something nice on Tuesday (along with the scheduled brain MRI).

But today is grey and rainy. Cold too. However, that didn’t stop me from bundling up, grabbing my hot water bottle, and going to go sit in my new used car. Zsolt didn’t get that – why just sit in the car? It’s hard to explain. Essentially, I’m trying to get used to it. I want the car to feel like a friend, and we havn’t quite reached that level yet.

Resting in the passenger side of the car, I reclined the chair and tucked the hot water bottle into my coat – zipping it snug against me. Then I relaxed.

Everything was grey, and everything was wet, with streams of water running down the windshield. I found myself staring at my neighbour’s shutters, contemplating their paint choices, until my eyes gave that up and closed. Then it really became interesting.

When it rains in my mind, it’s a uniform dumping of water. But listening as the drops hit the body of the small car, I realized that the rain was performing a sweeping symphony. Not as we’re used to it with an orchestra of violins and drums and horns . . . but with gentle tappings, metallic tings, charging waves, and constant droplets. It didn’t remain the same for more than ten or fifteen seconds before merging into some new, wet texture of noise and pressure against the car.

I lay inside, wrapped in this cold wetness yet untouched by the water, and was grateful for my hot water bottle. (Then again, when am I ever not grateful for that bottle?)

A few more degrees warmer, and maybe the car will become my new place for naps. I find it soothing to rest and listen to the rain. It really has so much to say.

Static

Productivity must be a mental muscle, one that I am failing to exercise…because it’s becoming more difficult to get going lately. Unless I have a firm appointment or commitment, I just lay here in the bed and stare at the ceiling. It’s really very ridiculous. There are things that could be done. Heck, this very second I see a pile of clothes that could be sorted, dishes that could be put away, a book I might find interesting, and a package that must be sent.

But that’s all I’m doing. Watching it all. There is an expression about boredom. Something about it being a luxury of those who are spoiled. Well I don’t know about that. Feels more like a curse in some sense. Sometimes it’s a luxury after a hard day. Right now it’s like a heavy blanket I can’t push off. And it’s not the same as rest.

Mind you, it might have more to do with mood, apathy, or something, rather than boredom. Maybe it’s not about being purposeless…just instead…stuck in myself. I keep thinking “you are wasting the days when you feel well! How many will you get, and how many will you regret?” But even that gets me no where.

Just writing this is probably enough; a tiny little flex in that mental muscle.

Purposefully Posting

This body of mine is keeping me awake again. But that’s not news. That’s every night around 3:30 AM-5AM or 4:30AM-6AM or 1:30AM-3AM. As far as insomnia goes, it is very reasonable and probably not insomnia at all.

But still, it helps if I write.

Therefore, I am writing.

Today I received a lovely bouquet from work. A thank you for everything kind of bouquet. It’s with white hydrangeas and pink roses and white lilies that are all cast against these large, wide folds of dark green leaves. Very pretty. It arrived via the delivery person and was a great surprise. Notably it was not a bouquet about my health, but instead about my contribution.

And yet still slightly bittersweet to receive, of course.

The past few days have been strange for me. Listless. With the impact of radiation being felt, I’m tired. Justttttt so tired. And yet not tired. Jusssssst so not tired. There are things I’d like to do, but have no drive to get done. My mind says yes, the body screams no.

Patience is a virtue in these situations, I suppose. But at the same time, I feel like I’m missing my window.

There are these windows when living despite cancer. Windows of opportunity that are between treatment and scans. When I do not need to visit the hospital 3 x in a week, and do a follow up the week after, and get treatments. There are these golden windows when life should be seized BY THE BALLS. Yeah, I just typed that – for realz.

Right now is that window of time. Except I literally just abandoned one of my life-balls-grabbing outlets, being my job. My amazing dream-come-true job. It’s bobbing away from me in the stream of life. The purposeful side of me is like, “WHAT IS NEXT?” and the reality side of me is like “YOUR NAP!”

But life despite cancer means pushing beyond the nap (or between them). I’ve been inspired by many an  amazing lady in the metastatic cancer world to know it’s essential. And it’s always just been a core value of how I’d like to define myself. Please, as I have said before, never say I lost a battle against a disease – should it come to my passing one day – instead, say I live the fuck outta life. Because if life isn’t about more than this body, then what’s the point of anything?

What is next then?

More writing? More art? More social media exploration? More travel? More ‘I haven’t discovered it yet, but will let you know when I do’? Probably all the above in small, manageable doses.

I suppose at now 6:00 AM in the morning, it means more sleep. For now.

And then ultimately a search for purpose. A new purpose. The last 1.5 years has been for Amnesty. Before that, for my writing. And now… we will see. Once again, it’s time to redefine what I am through what I do. I see everyone around me working with intensity … and my instinct is to join in with a passion. Therefore, I must find a spark – however long or short it is to last (spark may be short lived, but if it catches, it burns!)

And I must be more forgiving to my body. We are one unit, even if I would rather pretend that isn’t the case when the pain flares or sleep calls . . . but we are one unit, for now, and care needs to be given there too. Compassion, perhaps is an even better word.

So long as boredom doesn’t creep in too deeply.

Anyhow, so the journey of who I am begins again.

With the receiving of flowers, it is time to start a new path.

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And go back to bed.