Hungry for more

I wonder after I'm dead, how a stranger is going to handle my cold, naked body. I won't be there to cover up. It's not time to be modest, because you're dead, you can't do anything about it anyway, it still makes me feel sketchy. Some stranger with their foreign eyes, looking upon my imperfections makes me uncomfortable.

I wonder if I will be able to donate my corneas? I wonder if any of my body parts will be worth giving to anyone in need of body parts? I have a decent heart, except for that chemo I did that damages the heart...I've been athletic most of my life and eaten healthy. By the time I die my liver might be fucked, and my lungs. I should probably not write about this, or think about this. If there's any truth in creating a destiny based on manifesting it through thought, this isn't a safe way to spend a late night evening.

I should work on going to bed earlier. Now that I'm not enjoying a beer at home, or glass of occasional wine, what is the point of staying up late? Isn't the wine to help me sleep because I stay up late? Maybe that's the real reason I can't sleep. Maybe I should be better at smoking medicine to get into the mood to sleep. So much to remember all of the time. When one gets busy relaxing it's hard to remember that relaxing can also be work.

Everything is work. I mean, the pay is shit, it's zero in dollars, but to have to remember every day all of the possible combos of things to take and do, just for that job, the most important one, it's dizzying. I used to always think it was boring. It's not boring, it's just tedious.

If I really had my shit together, which I will hope to do tomorrow, I would have a list in place again and follow it like a map to a treasure. If you have to do the same things over and over but can't do them all in one day, it helps to know when you can, and what they are. That's called 'having a schedule'. Maybe if I thought about a schedule as not only something someone else imposes upon me, I could get over making one.

At this point in my life I can't take orders from anyone. At least with work I know it's over quickly and I pretty much make my own hours, but I still have to answer to someone at some point. But, really, really-really, I answer to no one. I have super cancer-ego now. My time is so important to me that everyone else can just kind of take a hike. If I don't want to do something, I just won't, and I won't give anybody an excuse as to why not. I just don't give a shit anymore. This must be how certain old people feel, then act upon it. But, I won't be farting openly in the supermarket, or cut in line pretending I don't see people waiting there. I have to save something for old age just in case I get there.

I used to complain to myself about how much it is going to suck getting old, but not now, not ever. I'm now occupied thinking about how I won't know what that's like and wishing I knew how much more time I actually had. It's so weird. I think about shit like this everyday, sometimes all day. What should I be thinking about? What do other people normally think about? I'll tell you. They think about shit they're going to buy, and about how much money they don't have. They think about how they look and how getting old is going to suck. They think about the future, they feel like they have so much time to do things they've dreamt about. They are comforted by the idea that someday these dream places will be visited, the dream people will be met, or the dream job will come along. We fool ourselves all of the time. How about thinking that you will never see Africa? Or you will never be able to afford the car you've always wanted? You will never snowboard at break-neck speed in a foot of powder, first chair, down your favorite runs at Highlands? What if you knew things that were going to be true and you would just have to get over it now, because it is never, ever, going to happen? Never. I think about this shit all day long. All day.

There is plenty to do, there always is, but my brain is always analyzing everything. And the stupid idiot analytical tendencies trend on repetition. It's like a bad song chorus playing over, and over again.

I don't know what life I'm supposed to be living. I have vacillated between trying to work, and trying to do the right things to slow down or get rid of the cancer. There can only be one true priority, so anything I add to my life to make it more interesting, or even normal, totally ends up annihilating my single most important job. The first casualty, always, is my cancer treatment routine. It's in my power to control. It is mainly self-administered. I am the patient, and the doctor, and the manager. So, I'm fucked. I don't like to rise early, I don't like being bossed around and I like spontaneity, not routine. I need a manager, but one who I'm the boss of.

I was hoping what'shisbutt would step in one of these years and do something about it, but he's less organized than me, tending to flake when I ask for anything hard to do. He's becoming less and less reliable. It drives me to anger when I am working on fighting for life everyday. You don't have real problems -is what I want to say to people sometimes when I see them get wrapped in things that don't matter that much. It's maybe not fair to make that judgement, some people really do have problems, but nobody I know has real problems, unless they are hiding a child porn room somewhere. It's the worst thing I can think of pretty much and you would definitely hide that shit from everyone.

Among my inner circle, I would say I have the shittiest hand dealt currently. I could be wrong. I'm not complaining about being the one, or feeling jealous of anybody who doesn't have the C. I would never wish a role were reversed, or anything like that. I wouldn't wish this on anyone I know, or trade. I want everyone I know to be healthy. I feel like I've had other lives where I've suffered a lot. It's familiar, but I can't put my finger on it. I don't want it, but somehow I know that I can take it because I've been through worse. But then I can't think of what's worse. That's what makes me think I must have suffered greatly in past lives. Not highly logical, but at the same time it is. It's like feeling old before your time. As if you feel intrinsically that you know what it's like to be very, very old.

Did I experience something worse, but it's forgotten? Chemo was the absolute worst. I can survive anything less worse than that much easier. Chemo took the suffering trophy. When I was going through chemo I knew what hell meant finally. The worst suffering my body and mind have ever experienced. No reprieve, no break. It was like I was burning and dying. I'm sure people get injured and it sucks and is painful, but for how long? How about 6 years? I never want to go near that again. Wow, it is to the depths and then deeper. Ugh. It's indescribable.

It is time for a burrito. Burrito-time. Because my newer meds make me nauseous and think that food isn't something to enjoy, I don't eat that much anymore, which is kind of cool because food can be a crutch, just like alcohol, sex, and any other addiction there is. But then it isn't so great because losing the enjoyment one gets from eating is a little catastrophic. It reminds me of chemo. Well, it is technically chemo, just not the kind that can kill you quick. This one takes longer.
I have recently stopped taking that medication, recently meaning 2 days ago maybe? I can't remember because short-term memory trouble is a side-effect from chemo. I oftentimes relate to the character in the movie Momento.

Writing myself little notes so I don't feel crazy when I forget basic things like people's names, ones I've known my whole life. Sometimes I forget basic words like, garage, or basket.

I'm going to get my one meal of the day (such not good planning, supposed to be eating frequently) then go for a walk at the beach.

Walking is a monumental event to me since it's been months since I've allowed myself to do it for further than just to my car and to shop. My right foot had a nerve pain in it that became excruciating, but then my holistic vet friend did some body work on my and it went away. Yeah. Really interesting. She's found out she is a healer, with past lives and shit. Another story for another day.

I know a lot of really interesting people. It makes me feel connected to the planet even more, reinforcing my purpose here. And, for all of the scary that is cancer treatment and decision making, these people reinforce to me that I should follow my heart. When making big life decisions it's up to each person to decide what goes and what stays. I don't want to be stuck, and I've been stuck. I don't like being made to feel like a victim by doctors, they can fuck right off. I don't think anyone knows everything, and the lines are so blurred, how can anybody play God like that? Burrito time!