My wife is awesome. That is all.

So we wrapped our arms around each other
Trying to shove ourselves back together
We were making love
Making love
-"Origin of Love" by Hedwig and the Angry Inch

Chemo Therapy

It is a daily reckoning. To be faced with your own mortality when you don't feel physically ill is one thing. To be faced with it when feeling physically more ill than you've ever imagined feeling is a new thing. A thing all it's own. Apart even from the reality of death, being forced intellectually to recognize that you will definitely die someday is interesting. Logistically, intellectually I know that Stage 1 Invasive Ductal Carcinoma isn't the thing that will kill me. It is only the thing that brought me here, to this uncomfortable place of reckoning. Chemo, on the other hand...whew. I'm on some serious drugs. Not your run of the mill glass of wine, not a little hit of grass here and there, and not the funny "hahahahahaha, I'm so HIGH on drugs because I just had surgery and I am sending hilarious text messages of my noobs to all of my friends, weeeeee!" type of drugs. No. these are serious fucking drugs. My mind is blown by the level of terrified I can manage to feel. I am devastated beyond any level of depression I have experienced, I am lonely, I am utterly sad and sick and tired. So I take whatever additional medication I need to in order to sit back and close my eyes and drift for a bit. And I sink into it. I sink into every thought and sensation that the present is willing to grant. I sink into the discomfort of the disparity. And that is when I realize that I am in the trenches now. I am in the clutches of the experience. I know that in time will come the glory of this fight. For now I drift.

Free Agent: Guardian Guide

I've been thinking a lot about a woman I once knew. I was a little girl, and she was a woman. And then I was a young woman. And she was dying.

There is much to be said about Sabrina, so much that even as a writer I feel I couldn't properly express her magnitude. You would have had to know her. The important thing to share here though, is that she has been gone for almost 5 years and I haven't seen her in over 8. But I have recognized growth in my life, throughout out my adulthood, seeded from pearls that she sometimes temperamentally shared, years before. Once, I was pissed off about the war that the US waged on Iraq and I paced my living room floor in my hippie apartment in Bryan Texas, raging over the landline to her as she listened patiently. She let me ramble on and on and on. I was distraught and passionate and hell bent on changing the world, or at least the minds of other people. And then she quietly spoke. She warned me about being angry. "This isn't going to get you anywhere. Start with yourself. Love the people around you. If you want to make a change, the bigger picture change starts within you..." I was pissed at her that day. I thought she didn't understand. I thought she was high and acting like a hippie dippy freak. I was 22 years old. The idea that she planted in my noggin that day has manifested itself as the number one motto that by now I live my life. I have practiced it and it has worked. This practice has birthed change that is tangible.

Before that she was like an aunt or a god mother to me. The seedy, crude, big, bold, sexy, gut laughing, pot smoking spiritual seeking crystal/rock hugging, incense burning, husky voiced, fearless, unapologetic, admittedly vulnerable, insatiably frustrating, grossly honest and raw and self exposed, crazy god damned godmother.

She is with me a lot since my cancer diagnosis. But now I inadvertently mutter phrases of hers that I have never said myself. Sometimes when I drive myself to a cancer appointment in my car alone, I feel like she is sitting in my passenger seat, sharing raw wisdom of mortality and grace, the fantasy manifesting itself in my body with tears that spring from deep inside my throat. Or laughter. Laughter. Laughter. Sometimes I see her in someone else. A glint in the eye, a toss of the head, a belly laugh, body type, manner of speaking. She is like an invisible laughing buddha angel, occasionally poking me in the ribs. She pokes at me randomly, reminding me that I was not put on this planet to be a pleaser of people, but an inspiration, and possibly a guide. She reminds me to say "fuck it all" every now and then. She reminds me that bands of women can be your best friends, and sometimes your truest sense of familial love. She reminds me that I'm going to die someday, but that it isn't today, and while I am here I should have a hell of a good time and serve others by serving that love and compassion that I have within me. She reminds me that I have a gift. She knew it because she had it too.

It is no surprise that she visited me today, during my first chemo session, in the form of the financial counselor at TX Oncology. There was something in the way she flicked her head when she spoke quickly and laughed, her body type, skin tone, bone structure. She spoke to us like we were familiar, administered her speech and then with a hastiness that would have been awkward from anyone with an ounce of self consciousness said in that husky voice, "You are beautiful." Randomly, spoken like a fact. And walked away.

I found the last letter she wrote to me before she died. I would like to share a few passages here, in the name of keeping her spirit alive and to remind myself that there is so much magic in this life. "It's going on late afternoon now. I'm dressed in my favorite "holy" jeans and my black velvet bra and black velvet panties. I feel good! Black top cut kinda low but not too much, just enough to enjoy to power of the BOOBS, oh yes yes YES. I was just full of myself ... and enjoyed the whole day. Will I actually do that everyday? I will try anyway. SAY YES TO LIFE!! I just hate limitations.....I miss you but you always feel near. Be good to yourself and of course, to others...Love and Peace and Harmony and Passion, Me"