Blogging seems like one of those trendy things writers do now days. Sort of like how writers used to write in cafes in Paris, or lock themselves away in a garret. I’ve never been in a garret, but I’d sort of like to try one out sometime. My garret would be fully equipped with electricity and Wi-Fi though, and maybe a sunken, Calgon-take me away tub. I’d write of course, but I’d also look out my window and hopefully have an amazing view of the ocean, or the mountains, or even a field where coyotes hunt field mice in the early morning dew. I had a view like that once, when I lived off I25 halfway between nowhere. I’d wake up early and stand next to my bedroom window and watch the coyotes search for their breakfast, before making my own. At night, I’d sit out on my porch and watch the lights on the highway drift by.
The past months I have written a lot. It’s cancer. I haven’t heard that nesting is a side effect of cancer, but it might be, because I have had a frantic urge to do that too. Breast cancer hasn’t been that big of a deal for me. I think for some women it’s a life changer, for me, it was more like another damn thing to be strong about. And I got a boob job. I HIGHLY recommend that. I had no idea plastic surgeons were so amazing. But finding out that I have something on my ovary. That’s a bigger deal. Much more murky and terrifying. I keep thinking, well, maybe it will turn out to be okay. But just in case, I better get the house paid off and figure out plans for the kids, and get to the beach one last time and ride a horse drawn carriage in Central Park and all those things that I thought I would have plenty of time for in my life.
So I am working on a memoir, but it’s bordering on fiction because I just can’t help clean up the messiness of my life. Today I wrote about my parents visiting me when I lived in the apartment on Huron in Northglenn. I miss them so much, but sometimes I’m so glad they aren’t here to watch the events of the last years. There is no way my dad could have handled watching me be in pain. So even though I’m not spiritual or religious, sometimes I think mom and dad were taken so they could help me in ways they couldn’t while they were on Earth. I feel them with me everyday. It’s how I stay strong.
Just Another Damn Thing to be Strong About 
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