English Breakfast

Oh joy, I’ve woken up to a living room chock full of camp counselors, from all over the globe no less. Full living rooms make me happy and mine has felt especially empty lately. Tall one has been camp counseloring for six weeks with one more to go and I’ve been missing him. Little dude isn’t one to have friends over and I’ve been spending my time sans kids home alone, not knowing what to do with myself and with tired body and fuzzy brain.

So while they’ll be out of here shortly and I’m keeping a respectful distance in the kitchen, I was able to provide some Providence Made {IRIE} English Breakfast tea to some charming brits who were craving a cup and I’m happy for the noise and that my son is well ensconsed with a lovely pack and I might even get my lawn mowed out of the deal. As there are about ten of them, they could do it relay style, each do a power lap and poof, it'll be done without anyone breaking a sweat.

Despite being in the hands of a good lawyer, I have still found it very stressful since being served with divorce papers. Papers that offer zero alimony and list my car and my business under his assets -- "value to be determined". There’s something very jarring about that when you’re in my precarious position. How on earth does this work? I bought that car well after we were separated. Are his new wardrobe and apartment full of furniture my assets? What about whatever gifts and meals he’s shared with his girlfriend? And what is my business other than me? Value to be determined, I feel violated. I suppose me and a bunch of scratched up ikea tables, cut-rate grid wall and found furniture, oh yeah, and rent, studio rent that is more and more difficult to pay.

I didn’t in my wildest dreams, or worst nightmares think we’d ever be reduced to this, never. But I underestimated a lot of things, sometimes being gullible can be funny, an endearing quality, sometimes not.

I’m trying to manage the stress with behavioral modification techniques, controlling what I allow myself to think about, clipping the mental loops of doom, I’m quite poor at this, especially, terribly bad. It will be what it will be despite my worry and panic. Stress is canciferous and so now, not only do I simply not enjoy it, it scares me, I fear it killing me by urging my RNA to replicate poorly.

I believe I have a rock solid case, I believe I’ll be fine once my supporting affidavits start pouring in, once they’ve been seen by a judge, but it’s going to be a long, painful slog and an ever worsening stomach ache.

I think it is cruel and unusual for anyone to inflict this on me now, at this particular juncture. I’ve had enough for a good long while and I want to focus on my rehab and learning how to walk without falling down, finding my bearings and it seems like there’s only one person in the whole wide world who doesn’t understand that cancer isn’t like getting the flu. You’re not just done, you’re never just done and you’re not who you are physically or mentally when you’re “all better”. Some people get all better, and I'm thrilled for them, although I'm sure they'll always worry. There are all different kinds and degrees of cancer, I had bad cancer with bad treatment options. There is no all better for me, there’s only making the very most of the rest of my life whatever it turns out to be and adjusting to a new normal where my body and my brain don’t look or work like they used to.

Even writing this makes my stomach churn, is this what it will be like for the next year? Never once during my diagnosis or illness did I ask “why me” or ponder the unfairness of it. Fair isn’t part of the deal, some people get sick, some don’t, we don’t know what causes cancer or M.S., or Lupus or an endless slew of other less than pleasant maladies or who will get them and why, but that’s just the way it goes, I drew the short straw, so be it, I hope I accepted the situation with grace. But this isn't fate, this is someone to whom I gave half of my life and to whom I was kind and supportive and who tortured me with apathy and disregard for decades, choosing to put me in the meat grinder and I can’t help but ask why me? why now? when do I get a break? I’m so tired, so weary, putting every ounce of energy into being the best parent I can be, and to stay afloat financially and yes, to experience a moment of joy every day because that's the whole point isn't it? O.K., focus on Mexico, focus on my amazing, beautiful friends, and my spectacular children. Focus on the present, the day to day, sticking with rehab at the Y, Mexico, Mexico, M E X I C O, and breathe, breathe, keep breathing.