Crispy

I am looking for a full bodied experience. I'm not sure what that means anymore.

Should it touch shoulders while skirting ankles? Or is it one of those internal type of deals? How meta can we get with this, anyway?

I went downstairs seeking toast. what did I find? toast. slightly burnt bread with melted fat drizzled on, like a masterpiece of the mundane. I had the gall to marvel at its lack of satisfaction. Being hellbent on breaking the rules of reality, I tried a second round, hoping for a change. Toast is toast, and identical actions will garner identical outcomes. It would be ludicrous to assert otherwise. Require a dash of denial and a sprinkle of ...sublime? That will do, yes. 

Toast at 6:30am should be a sublime experience. It is decided.

The Art of Being Totally Selfish

I am not voting in the elections because it is too damn cold. (It's a popular sentiment.)
I am also terrified of the reality that my ANC(read: level of infection fighting bits) is so low a cough will send me to the hospital. If you sneeze near me, I will run for the hills.
Though there are plenty of germs lurking amidst the cushy carpeting and couches, I refuse to leave this house. (This is also probably due to the fact that I am incredibly lazy and my sweatpants are considered unacceptable outside wear, but pettiness is a bad look.)

There is actually a song illustrating my current state of affairs. Please see Lyrics - Frank Sinatra, "Luck be a Lady" (replace "luck" with "health")

Lyrics of note:
you might forget your manners
you might refuse to stay
and so the best I can do is pray

They insist I should be wearing a face mask to class, and despite my little HEY-I-HAVE-CANCER front page fiasco, I want to operate under the delusion that (most) people don't know. I like to think that my efforts to assimilate via appearance(read: wear make up and brush my hair like a normal, non-hopeless person) are not futile and I imagine tossing a SARS-scare-era face mask into the mix may upset that. I understand that this means I am "asking for it" and behaving in a counter-productive way (Do I want to get sick and have to drag on the chemo-ing? Do I miss having hair?), but goddammit I want to feel normal. This is a selfish and (probably expensive) desire, but it is one of the few remnants of "old self"(read: pre-cancer) feelings that I possess, so I will tether myself to it like a tree they're about to tear down. Cancer and related issues: bulldozer.

So I will continue to not draw attention to myself and instead, purell the shiz out of my surrounding areas... and refuse to leave my house, save for class. Balance? Maybe. Ridiculous? Certainly. Effective? I hope so.

(De)Mean Girls

"I have felt personally victimized by Regina George."

And by Regina George, I mean the DP. Thanks to tireless efforts to be ethical(if that clause was a wet dish rag there would be drips of sarcasm seeping from it.), the DP managed to purport my struggle with a "sexy", controversial illness into a centerpiece. Literally. As in my picture was the "centerpiece", as industry terms go, of Friday's issue. How special do I feel? SO. SPECIAL. 

The garish display, especially without proper accompaniment, made the message appear hallow and insipid. The event attempted to capitalize on the strength of the individuals who participated, yet the commentary did the opposite. 

The "beauty" of the event was the choice of the participants to share - and share in a way that they felt comfortable with(ie in a intimate setting of couches graced by 30ish of their peers). The DP, with the careless efforts of their photography department, successfully managed to completely undermine that. But a thanks is in order - now I no longer have to broach the awkward subject with friends, acquaintances, faculty, etc, myself - people are more than comfortable approaching me with a subject I was *clearly* comfortable enough with to plaster across the campus newspaper's front page. However, I will definitely think twice before participating in such events involving such sensitive subject matter, because those "in charge" of relaying these events to the greater Penn community lack the sensitivity necessary to do appropriately.

On this campus, a sorority girl pictured without her hair is as shocking as a celebrity's crotch shot. To those who suggest the public nature of the event makes such documentation(without permission) allowable: it's one thing to undress in a women's locker room; it is quite another to undress in front of a camera. 

I wish I could say it was my brave act, as it has been referred to, that graced the cover of the DP, but that feels like a sham. Yes, I willingly ripped my hair prothesis(as my prescription that was summarily rejected by insurance says) from my head in manner similar to a drunken coed flashing "Girls Gone Wild" style. However, the coeds at least do so in front of a camera and (albeit drunkenly) provide (some sort of alleged) consent. In my case, the presence of cameras at the event became overt only during the discussion afterwards - interrupting the reflective silence, each comment was accompanied by a flash. And even then, no briefing was provided on the ownership of the cameras/photos.

I understand the need to utilize the sexier aspects of events for headlines and the like - I do dabble in the marketing side of things, after all. However, this can be done with ethics in mind - an element which has been sadly lacking from an arena whose dictates require said element. An arena that has lawyers, conferences, meetings, casual reminders, etc specifically for said element. Why waste the time and energy?

A good rule of thumb regarding professionalism: act professionally. If you are going to attempt to tackle serious issues, deal with them with the dignity and gravity they deserve. In reverse, if you feel you cannot: do not. Simple. As. That.  

Fish food(der)

It has been noted that my attention span can be equated to that of gold fish with a learning disorder. This has been troublesome in the past, particularly with friends.Though I suppose acting like a pet who only wants to be fed sporadically would cause some issue. 
Gluttony at its best: my fish Caitlin died from overfeeding(aka my friend the fish was not named after - cough Jessie - dumped an entire container of fish food into the tank. I'm still bitter about it.)  
And then there are some people for whom portion size has no meaning. I'd join 5 different extra curricular activities just to have an excuse to see them. People who I want to bother relentlessly but realize under regular societal constraints it would come off fairly awkward. 

I hate needing excuses to encounter people. A person with whom I have nose-touching level of friendship calls it "creeping" and I feel it is an adequate expression of our interaction. It's love in the 3rd degree; reminder of the time when waging wars with oven mitts were the only battles worthy of fighting.

I feel tingling in places I'm not supposed to. It is one of the few reminders of the weekly dosage of sunshine and ponies captured in a syringe that makes me wish for rain. 

I know I should be more appreciative. But dammit, being thankful is hard when you fall asleep during the prayer.

Sunshine on tap

There's sunlight pouring through my window. At 9am, it makes me yearn for the curtain I forgot to purchase. At 10am, it makes me thankful for forgetfulness. At noon, it makes me feel like a bum. But that's commonplace, I think.

Body's strewn across the bed like a rag doll with crumpled limbs. Today's temperature melted my resolve and sent me crawling back to bed(with an iced caramel macchiato). I woke up knowing that it would be a war of attrition - my desire for freebies at a festival vs. my obnoxiously frequent guest, weakness. Desire held strong for a while, allowing body over here to paint a seasonal orange squash(pump...kin? yes.) and play holly hostess with some cupcake coupons. Desire's shields, fortified by ample supplies of iced coffee and sugary snacks, dissolved throughout the afternoon. Weakness was quick to strike, sending body back to where weakness resides: cushiony places with rumpled sheets.

Fairness is a dose of tylenol. (I'm not allowed any.)

Let's have some cheese with that w(h)ine - ha. People are still wonderful, faster and longer lasting than  the drugs to sustain me and make me function semi-normally.
Me gusta soar, me gustas tu. (hi dara)

word vomit

(tuesday)
Today I'm feeling pretty damn good. In comparison to yesterday, which shouldn't count as a day. For you see, one of my three (yes, three) anti-nausea meds ran away, and forced me to deal with the terrible feeling of...being nauseous. But just slightly. Just enough to curl up in a ball and never move, but not enough to really do anything about it.
My nausea has a pokerface. I did not call it's bluff because that would just be a ...terrible thing to do. Decided.

I'm in an odd spot right now.

My head is the clearest it's been in days. I should write a novel.

Realization: people are wonderful.

I had missed the slightly operatic sound of collective singing. The sort of songs that fill the empty bellows of your being. The ones that, despite the hiatus, would never let you forget them if you tried.
It carries you as you find yourself echoing words in an unrepentant volume in one of the few places where even the off-key are welcome.

Home is a few words and fewer places. But they all feel right to me.

Goals and Volleys

Today I was the most athletic I have been in months. Or rather, best attempt at athleticism(in months). Let us start there. Chasing down buses(successfully...some of the time) and hurtling towards closing subway doors are activities that simply do not count. 

It was a lovely day at the park. Funnily enough, I actually live next to one and yet have managed to successfully avoid it most of the summer - work reasons or otherwise. Probably had something to do with my exercise abilities going to die there. It was a lovely ceremony, marked by some vomit after some dynamic stretches(really? really? yes. ugh.) Defeated, I put aside my love for the park and walked home, water bottle full and heavy swinging at my side. 

But today there was volleyball. And something about the ability to volley some lightweight synthetic orb over and over again, adjusting position slightly(or not so slightly...bastards) brought me back. Yes, I needed a break or two. or five. Running after a rogue toss was a bit of a strain. I was fortunate enough to have a very patient volleying-partner(our opponents sort of gave up on us and just let us fuck around with the ball for awhile). But all in all, it brought me back to days when my sticky fingers(goalie gloves are good like that) could stop (uh, mostly) anything that came near the net. Then there was the sprint up to the edge of penalty box, pause, look, and a (sometimes) successful punt to a (hopefully) open teammate. Choices. Total control over placement and play. For a brief, shining moment.

Apparently in a few weeks I'll be feeling up to a run. Public gyms are forbidden(people = germs. boo.), but at the very least I should be less inclined to cough every time I exert energy beyond a brisk walk. These are the sorts of constraints that, I imagine, will motivate me to run 5K's when the shenanigans are over. Just to prove to my ol' XC self that those Darlington meets that earned me permanent embarrassment on the cross-country highlight reel were (slightly) worth it. (Picture this: girl in uniform, practically bouncing with outstretched arm towards elderly man with whistle around neck, holding out a curious yellow object. Closeup: inhaler. As non-asthmatic runners zoom by effortlessly, girl shakes inhaler, puffs 2x, hands it back, continues on.) All is not lost.

Goals.