Spontaneous Road Trip!

Sunday afternoon, Francois suggests we go to Las Vegas.  We would all be on Christmas break that Friday and flights to the sunny city of sin were cheap.

Why not?  I bagged us some inexpensive tickets, reserved some rooms and rented a car.

We walked, slept and ate in beauty – Cirque du Soleil, Zion Lodge, Monument Valley, The Grand Canyon, and plenty of time with two wonderfully present, engaging kids.

It was one of our best family trips ever.

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December Storm

BOOM

My therapist asks me for it almost every time we meet.

CRASH

My friends, family, colleagues and acquaintances call me brave because they imagine it sitting there with me all the time.

POW

And it’s been there —  whiffs in the air, a cool heavy draft.

ANGER.

But it’s been so subtle.  So soft.

It’s storming for me now.

As I tumbled into a new treatment, complete with a bad cold and low blood cell counts, I fell into mouth and jaw pain, an inflated constipated farty belly,  and I dragged my knees up high to avoid stubbing numb feet and numb toes.  I willed myself up stairs, to my office, to the store, the kitchen, my son’s bed for a story.

I was too gutted to feel.  New bone pain?  I don’t know.  New symptoms?  I don’t know.  New liver pain?  I don’t know.  New neuropathy pain?  I don’t know.  I don’t feel like doing anything.   I haven’t been doing anything.

I’M.JUST.WIPED.OUT

So they give me a shot of Neulasta for my low blood counts.

And I get just enough.

Just enough to pinken my cheeks.  To ignite some desire to DO some stuff.

AND.I.CAN’T.DO.IT

ALL

I’ve just enough energy to be desolately, dangerously pissed off.

I’m pissed at my therapist for wanting so sit there and “BE WITH ME” while I get sad or angry.  (FUCK THAT!)

I’m pissed at my good friends for returning my calls when I  leave sobbing voicemails.  (Just leave me the FUCK ALONE!)

I’m pissed at my gently pained back and hips for CONSTANTLY, reminding me of the tumors growing there.

I’m pissed at my husband for never, ever helping me with the holiday preparations and celebration.  Why the FUCK do I have to do it all AND DIE?

I’m pissed that I’m pissed. WHAT A WASTE OF FAMILY TIME!

I’m PISSED that even  the sessions on Professional Development Day that DID interest me won’te matter BECAUSE I’LL ONLY BE TEACHING ANOTHER COUPLE OF QUARTERS, MOST LIKELY.

I’m really pissed that this might be my last year teaching.

I’m pissed that I’ll never get to practice the new leadership skills I was developing.  That I’ll never have that quarter when “I got it right” as a teacher.

I’m pissed that my kids are going to grow up without me.

I’m pissed my lovely puppy will have to be walked by someone else.

But I’m really pissed at YOU.  I’m pissed that this is happening to me and NOT YOU.

So I’m plugging my ears, stomping my feet, and yelling LALALALALALALALALALALA!!!!

I’m walking into this angry storm with fists raised and legs kicking, face learning forward into slashing tears,  howling rage and bitterness.