I feel like James Bond who’s been tortured by being hung from ropes by his armpits. Not smooth nylon rope, but scratchy shipyard rope. After freeing himself, James would run a minute mile, kick ass, catch some bad guys and then have a “date” night. Not me, I’m whining and complaining. Tomorrow’s my last day of rads and I won’t be leaping across the finish line, champagne and streamers in hand... I’ll be limping across pondering the timing of my next nap, it's sadly anti-climatic.
It will, however, be heavenly, truly heavenly, not to have an appointment every single day. Next Thursday morning, because the boys go to their dad’s on Wed. nights, I can sleep late, as late as I want, sleep, sleep, sleep.
I know I sound mopey, but it’s been a good week, a lot is getting done in the studio to prepare for the store opening, which is more of a store/gallery this year and it’s looking beautiful. It’s gratifying to see it come together and I have a really lovely, wonderful group of artists consigning their work to me. Some I’ve known for a few years now and just love working with and catching up with as they drop off their inventory, and new one’s that have all been a pleasure. My new rule for vendors is I have to love your work and really like you too. No bullshit, no high maintenance drama crap... it’s got to be fun and easy. I’m lucky to be surrounded by such great and talented folks.
At radiation today, I criss-crossed in the dressing room with the always distraught russian lady. She saw my burns and volunteered hers and then started a muttering chant of “god help us, god help us,” probably long past my leaving. The techs, as usual were eating donuts and slugging down their jumbo sized drinks from Honey Dew. I usually ask them to turn the music off in the rads room when it’s my turn, it distracts me from zoning out and I prefer not to be there. Except today they had on Linda Ronstadt who was singing “poor, poor, pitiful me”, which just seemed too fitting. I need a new cast of characters, truly, I’m ready to move on.