Shout-out, Shut-in & Sh*t I Don’t Understand

Unless you’re Laura Ingalls — why would anyone do this? File under Sh*t I Don’t Understand.

Shout out!

Geez. Two months since my last post?  I know, hard to believe, and me such a prolific poster.

No health-related reason for my absence other than, apparently, my mind has descended to the point where I am no longer able to multi-task, or even find the words to complete a coherent sentence. Hey! Who does that remind you of?

Other reasons could be . . .

— Ennui, perhaps?  In medical record notes they sometimes call this “anhedonia,” though the two aren’t really the same.  Smartasses.  Always gotta have some word they think nobody else knows. Well, I took Latin, bub.  I know what anhedonia means.

— Summer and grandkids make for stuff to do besides blogging, or even reading other blogs.  You don’t dare try to sneak a little blog reading time on your computer.  When you sit down they descend on you like locusts wanting to play some game.

— Whatever I might have thought to blog about couldn’t have been too important, or somebody else blogged about it better and I didn’t see a need to repeat it.

— Kidding aside, it’s been a time of struggle and sadness for a few family and friends.  My heart just hasn’t been into blogging lately.

So, in case you were wondering, no health scares. Still NED. Just the minor lifelong litany of ills chemo and radiation bestow on various body parts that can result in a periodic good day-bad day thing.

In September, I’ll be two years out from treatment. That’s when my chances for survival are supposed to increase “markedly!” “dramatically!” “exponentially!” Though I’m not sure about that last one, at least in a true mathematical sense.

Then again, I heard an oncologist say the other day that 28 months is the window for recurrence, so who knows.  I’m just glad for every extra day I get so that I can claw my way out of . . .

The Department of Sh*t I Don’t Understand . . .

Like everyone else I suppose, I’m just trying to survive whatever sick game your president* is playing with North Korea, though my gut feeling is it’s just his way of distracting us from Mueller’s investigation. Also, enduring the stench of raw sewage he calls his Administration.

If I had to bet on what would kill me first, today I’d say it won’t be my cancer.

It is beyond my comprehension that this overbooked ship of fools is still docked. Rather than evoke the 25th Amendment, Republicans in Congress are willing to risk the lives of millions of people — Republican people, I might add — to keep this psycho teed up.

For what end?

And back to first world . . .

Our AC went out at 5am.

High today here in Hell: 100 degrees.

Pulled out the floor fans, closed the shutters and drapes and blinds, cranked up the ceiling fans to High, turned off any device that emits even a joule of unnecessary heat and now trying to convince my dogs to breathe through their noses and not their mouths. Do you realize how much heat two big, hairy dogs and one medium-sized dog panting produces? Why aren’t they following my instructions?

I forbid all doors in my house to the outside to be opened and even a microgram of diminishing cool air to escape.  “In or out, we’re not air-conditioning the neighborhood!”

Yes, I suppose I could leave and go to an air-conditioned movie or bookstore or the library, but then my animals would be left to suffer while I’m enjoying myself in icy cold comfort.  What kind of person would do that?  Hey! I bet I know someone who would.

So, I’ll stay here with them l until the AC guy comes this afternoon; hence, the term shut-in.

Also, anhedonia.