Today is cold, grey, windy, utterly blah and it’s gonna rain. Yes, you are correct—this means I have less than zero amounts of motivation to do anything but read in bed. NOT good—the motivation dearth that is.
I am, however, reading a collection of essays by Margaret Atwood (Burning Questions) and, goddamn, she’s awesome—witty, informative, compelling, fun and more. I haven’t read any of her fiction in years. I believe I’ll put her new short story collection Old Babes in the Wood on my library hold list.
This is from a recent interview with the magazine, Wired:
Interviewer: That reminds me of one of the first questions I was going to ask you.
Ms. Atwood: What’s it like to be really, really old? (she’s 83)
MA: It’s more fun than you’d think.
I: Well, actually—expand on that.
MA: As long as you’re not actually dying or having dementia, you just have a lot less to lose. You can color quite a lot further outside the lines, especially compared to young people these days, in an age of anxiety. People are afraid of being beaten up by their peers on social media. They haven’t been hardened in the fire. If you have been hardened, you can just let it rip.
Hardened in the fire? Yeah, that’s me mes amis and that’s how I feel about being older. I’m retired from the print/design fields. My ruthless taskmaster now is me and that rat bastard neurofibromatosis type 2.
On that note, Jen and I spent half the day yesterday at Mass Eye and Ear Infirmary getting my left eye checked out. This was just a four month scheduled follow up and I’m doing great. Unexpectedly awesome in fact.
Yesterday’s other Nf2 business was my pesky inflated blood pressure. I’m off the BP igniting chemo now and my blood pressure meds have been doubled. While we wait for my BP to come back down to cozy, safe levels, is my frontal lobe monster meningioma getting fat and happy? When will I resume chemo? WILL I resume chemo? Will I need to have the beast at the front of my brain cut out of me instead of chemically slimmed down?
I’d worry, fuss and maybe even panic a bit but *yawn* I just can’t be arsed. I can’t heal/fix/cure myself with worry or stress—that’s a fact. So, I’m just gonna hop on the elliptical (strength building), climb the stairs a half dozen times (weight bearing exercise) and fold and put away laundry (balance ex) today. Sadly, napping with Cake does NOT count as rehab exercising.
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