Warning: Marathon of Cancer and non Cancer Thoughts

Friday afternoon EDWARD accepted our invitation to live in the Mansion! Hooray! We have a roommate! He seems great! The search is over!

On Friday night my mom came back in to town and thank God. When Rachel moved into the Mother-in-Law she left her room its hideous shade of beige, but first randomly painted some streaks of olive and sage green on various walls. Thanks, Rachel. I was pretty depressed about this, but I wanted the walk-in closet so much that it seemed worth it to move into the badly painted room and just deal with it… later. But my mom is almost as manic as I am (even without the Prednisone) and on Friday night she made a trip to Lowe’s for primer and paint. In less than 16 hours she primed my room and painted both the ceiling and the walls. It looks so beautiful. Besides being a brilliant theologian she also happens to possess a gift for painting.
Please note all the things about my room that White People Like: Ikea Bookcase, Expensive Sheets from Garnet Hill, and One Nice Piece of Vintage (nightstand in corner was Christmas gift from dad…)

Saturday afternoon the Pereirras were in town so they swung by. Birch and Cliff moved all of my furniture down the hall and Chere and my mom made my bed for me. I just sat there letting myself be helped. Besides primroses and muscle Cliff and Chere brought me a nice lavender heating pillow and these great White Blood Cell Tiles for My Team. When you touch them, you’re supposed to think good things for my white blood cells. I love stuff like this. I also love Cliff and Chere. They stopped in PDX on the way up and handed them out to some of my PDX peeps, so I know the love is well spread down the I-5 corridor. If you want a tile, shoot me and email! Let’s not forget that Q-Crew was around for the whole moving fiasco and helped by being awesome friends. I made pizza for dinner and they stayed and we got to have lots of good conversation that didn’t revolve around me having cancer or anything Old like that. If I don’t say it every day to someone, I’ll say it here: Q-Crew is my rock.

Today I was feeling pretty cracked out on the Pred (2 more days, 2 more days…) and so I started making a list of errands that I should do while I still only feel the need to sleep for about 3 hours a day. One of my errands was a trip to Target to return the Trainer I bought (Julian has one). Of course you can only find Target in the most disgusting outlying areas of Seattle and of course it involves driving more than 10 minutes from my house, but my mom and I ventured to Renton. It was horrible. Target was horrible. The suburbs are horrible. Right now I can only be thinking of reasons I want to live and so therefore I try to avoid anything that makes me want to commit suicide like complexes of Target/Lowes/Frys/PetCo/Etc. The return was simple enough but after about 2 seconds of attempting to shop for other necessities I felt myself panicking and my mom and I booked it back to NoBea for some Pho. Pho is the answer to everything bad.

This afternoon the Need to Do returned and in the shower I decided, what the fuck? I’m going to shave all of my body hair. It’s falling out anyway! In chunks! Gross! I have never, ever shaved my pubic hair. Oh my god. I don’t think I’ve seen such a sight since I was… 13? I’m not into it. I look pre-pubescent. So let’s re-cap the beating my sexuality has taken in the last 3 weeks:
Shiny, naturally highlighted (if not difficult), woman head-hair: gone
Fantastic, constantly highlighted cleavage: suffering from an ugly white tube protruding
Pubic Region: regressed 12 years.

I don’t think I knew I was attached to any sense of my femininity or that I walked around knowing that at any moment some man might see me and think Ah HA! I want to hit that! But now I feel fairly certain that is NOT happening. And it sucks. I’m not saying that the shaved head isn’t cute or that I deserve it when people gawk at my Hickman at QFC, but… fuck.