Just call me Grumpelstiltskin. I’m crabbier than Lindsay Lohan’s couch cushions and I can’t seem to break out of my funkagawea. Even reading a slew of vagina-related comments this morning on yesterday’s post didn’t pull me out of my funk.
Well, that’s not exactly true. Apparently I’m just not in a vagina mood. When Britt introduced the term “fruit cup” I accidentally spewed green tea all over a sleeping Mildred as I guffawed. Oops.
After Bieber’s performance on American Idol last night, my brother Thom decided to send me a link to this lovely site. So of course I had to scroll through the whole damn thing to make sure he hadn’t sent in a picture of me. So far, so safe. But now I feel like I can’t randomly submit other people’s pictures for my own amusement. That just made me crabbier.
I’m about 900% sure some of my crabbitude is in anticipation of Tuesday – when I’ll get pumped full of radioactive dye, shoved into a long metal tube, and scanned for signs of the creeping death. Add some Rod Stewart tunes to the mix and you’ve pretty much created my own personal hell.
Today though, I’m heading out to the new house for the home inspection. It’s a little surreal to be looking at the place I hope to live for the next ten to twenty years, while simultaneously anxiously dreading a visit with my oncologist, fearing what my immediate future holds. It feels a little like planning a fishing vacation to New Orleans – strange timing.
The scan will be clean. I know it will. But I’ll just feel much better Tuesday afternoon when Aloysius smiles and tells me I’m just fine.
As is the way of life, a friend of mine (another Lymphoma survivor) sent me this video yesterday. On the one hand, it’s the worst possible timing. I’m a freaking ball of nerves and the last thing I need to see is a bunch of people talking about their lost loved ones. On the other hand, it’s the absolute best timing. That’s me in the green flowered hat at around the three minute mark. That’s me looking healthy and happy and triumphant. That’s me after kicking cancer’s ass.
I did it once. Worst case? I can do it again.
But I won’t have to. Because Tuesday my scan will be clean, damnit. And I’ll have an offer on my apartment. And the oil spill will have somehow stopped. And John Leguizamo will be the governor of Arizona. And cheesecake will make you lose weight. *sigh* A girl can dream…