It's been a little over 2 weeks, and I'm having more and more dreams about hair. It's not just about scalp hair either. I dream about eyelashes, eyebrows, pubic hair, toe hairs, hand hairs, arm hairs, armpit hairs, and leg hairs. Every kind of hair you can think of. These all kept falling out right up until last week. gargh! The good news is that my head is itchy. Really itchy. 4 more weeks to go till I get a good GI Jane going.

There is only one kind of hair I DO NOT want back....chin hair. Come on Ladies...can I get a witness?

8 down. 0 to go. Today was the last day. It took them 4 times to get a needle in my arm. My right arm hates me. I can get my recon anytime I want. I start the Taxol in a month, and don't have to see the oncologist for a month. BTW, I can't stop smiling.

Thanks Goddessess and Queens and various friends, humble servants, and chillins who came last night. It was mellow, and that's exactly how I wanted it. Ya'll are beautiful!

Here's to health!

My week has delightful.

I learned a lot like I'm a wiennie. There's no complaining when there's babies out there who go through 30 treatments of chemo with heavier drugs than what I have to deal with. My heart goes out them and their families.

I got A LOT of yard work done and found out that the reason why I've gotten so tired and dizzy was cuz I'm anemic again. Whatever...get a shot and it goes away. I still have work to do, but the weather is cooperating and the yard is coming together. So if you're coming on Sunday no talking about various holes and weeds throughout the yard! There's a lot to do.

Tennessee Tilly (ex-mom-in-law) who's extremely conservative (public schools shouldn't exist and America is god's gift to the Earth kind) sent me one of those cutesy emails people send. What sets this one apart from the other 1,000,000 cutesy emails she's sent is that it ends with this quote: Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel. hmmm....... She did spawn my ex...

I have woken up every morning this week singing these lyrics:

I can see the light of a clear blue morning
I can see the light of a brand new day
And everything's gonna be alright
yes, everything's gonna be alright...

You get the idea. Now it's off to the Elvis Parade!

Yesterday I took the PinkZilla to the KC zoo. We had the best time! I lose energy pretty quickly, and I was wondering how I was going to handle it all. PinkZilla was a treat! Zilla helped pushed the stroller, watched Pinkie when I need to hit the restrooms, and informed us about the animals we were looking at. Pinkie came up with her own information, ate her food (miracle), and demanded to go shopping only two or three times. They didn't argue until we were almost home. They're typical siblings full of pranks and various consternations specifically designed for the bedevilment of the other, but that day they were angels with only tiny horns and itty-bitty vibrated tails.

It was the most relaxing time I've had out with the kids since I can remember. We saw everything we came to see and a lot more than usual even though I didn't put them on the death march that my usual speed is. I let them eat candy. They didn't argue, complain, or whine. I think hell froze for awhile yesterday.

People looked at us. I know it can't be helped. Folk look at folk, and we had a tired looking bald woman (me) leading a small ragtag troupe of baboons (PinkZilla). I got my laughs at Pinkie. I kept taking my hat off and walked about with a snakeskin print umbrella to the amusement of others. I'm not paranoid. I could hear giggling. I would've giggled too. Pinkie was mortified. Can a child get mortified before puberty? "Mom, I don't like it. Put it back on." "Please, kid. You don't know these people." "Why do you talk to people you don't know?" "Because they're human, and that's just who I am." If she'd just notice that I also talk to animals.

I got my laughs at Zilla who would not use the public restroom because "It's too noisy in there, Mom." Me and Pinkie sat there for twenty minutes waiting for him to feel comfortable enough to pooh. I made him get out of the way of a grandpa who waited patiently for his brood's time to enter the family pooh room. I shouldn't laugh. I'm not a public pooher either except for one horrible incident at a busy restaurant. That cured me of my shy shitter....maybe not.

I guess that's the vacation me and my PinkZilla got this year. We needed that small excursion emotionally and physically. Go there when it cools off again. They got the short cut opened, and the Kid Zone is a blast (AC).

I have been wondering when the mother-daughter confrontations and tension would begin. I thought it was when puberty started rear its ugly head. No. It's not. My Pinkie is 5 years old, and she rolls her eyes at me with such effort that only the most adept eye-rollers can muster. She is also queen at making the most astound and loudest assertions with the most profound belief in them. I WILL see those Asian giraffes someday, Kansas IS just a small part of Lawrence (Johnson County is actually another country), and snacktime IS at 6 pm no matter what I say.

Hot is cold and cold is hot, by the way. You don't want to contradict her. Not only would that embarass the little goddess but it would seriously piss her off into a tyrade that Eris herself would never have been able to conceive.

I am proud of Pinkie. She has confidence and knows what she wants. It can be a little annoying when she's screaming at the top of her voice because foxes only come in red and she has to wear the blue and green striped tank with the pink and red plaid skorts.

What I'm proud of is that she will contradict the religious mores being instilled in her by her over-zealous grandparents. She's sassy and she thinks ...sometimes. Ahh....my little rebel.

7 down. 1 more to go. I want my hair. I want my eyebrows. It'll be a few days before I stop hurting. My nails look like they'll detach from my fingers at any moment. My doc says they won't, but I've heard tales. Sheesh. People tell their tales, and sometimes it's just not helpful.

All these drugs are keeping my body exhausted but my brain working on new ideas (which is good). I've been down these past months. It's kind of hard to work on projects when your mind is obsessing on something. I've now decided to turn that obsession into something to keep my creative juices flowing. So the next set of stuff might seem depressing, but I swear it's not. It's just about my determination to be over this shit for good. Of course it'd have to physical. I'm "innarda" after all.

I'm going to count my blessings. Someone I've just come into knowing and caring about is having a harder time.

If only it'd cool off and rain, then maybe this bad funk would lift a little.

Growing up Midwestern in the country there are certain rules that must be followed before the developers and their hordes of construction workers and the suburbanite assholes invade the place. You have to go swimming in creeks or ponds. You have to go batting at mailboxes while driving drunkenly 20 MPH over. You have to go tromping through the fields and woods before their gone. You have to learn to deal with nonhuman neighbors.

I hated living in the country as a teen. I have to admit that. BUT there were things that I loved like hanging out late drunk or stoned, talking, and listening to nature with friends. Sex during that time was interesting. It was kind of like the postal service. Neither rain nor shine nor dead of night kind of thing....

Now as I drive around, I'm having hard time recognizing my neighborhood. My favorite field has been turned into a golf course. There's housing developments where I used to hike. And strip malls and fast food icks that people go to and then subsequently throw their trash out of their car windows just to make this place prettier, I guess. I know it's all too common to hear someone like me bitch about it, but when you see your favorite things and memory filled places bulldozed for oversized American ugliness you get a little sad and miffed.

At least my ex's parents place is still isolated. I still go there with PinkZilla of course. They love it there. YaYa (Tennesee Tilly after 5) and PaPou (Mr. Quintano by night) are my Ex-parent-in-laws. They have this awesome pool completely surrounded by trees and invisible to everyone who's not in an airplane or looking at satellite pictures. There's also a pond thirty feet off of it. It's also hidden by trees and has been the inspiration of many a spinetingling tale to tell gullible children. Kids love it. We go over a lot now since we live out here. Convenience sometimes is a secret love of mine.

At this pool one has to call ahead of time to ensure a thorough snake search (I hate copperheads). So it was a bit frustrating to me that the last time we went to YaYa's house to swim and we only swam for aproximately 10 minutes before dragging ourselves and the myriad of toys, drinks, and clothing back up to the house. It's a hike.

We got down there and YaYa searched the skimmers for any hidden friends. We found one. a large bullfrog. O Joy! O Rapture! We start swimming with said frog in pool. (He was probably shitting himself) 1 friend but now the "unfriendly" start to come:
1 horsefly deftly killed by YaYa.
1 wasp coming for drink and then politely leaving.
1 floating in the air spiderweb string that unfortunately landed on Pinkie.
1 other horsefly seeing who of his kind died (he left too).
1 dead ant floating in the water.

My Pinkie had enough. She was crying so pitifully! "Momma, pick me and take me back up to YaYa's!" I don't pick up 50 lbs of anything at this moment, so no way (chemo). I'm a mean mom. Both the Pinkie and Zilla were clinging to me like I could save them from the fate worse than death of being landed on by a bug. Butterflies are ok.

Are these really mine and PA's kids? Both of us were raised in the country, and now our offspring are afraid of bugs. I was actually priding myself on raising 2 animal-loving and nature-conscious children, so WTF? oh well. They're still my life and breath.

Whatever, Enarda. Tell them the truth.

Ok. Ok. I jumped and squealed this morning when a big bumblebee buzzed my head while watering the flowers.

As I get further away from the AC treatments, there are small signs of healing that seem almost insignificant to others but raise my hopes and outlook on life. I had one of those small signs last night in the form of a very rich and delicious Triple Chocolate Cake.

My brother and his pregger wife were in town, and we were celebrating her birthday at a high priced Chucky Cheese's out at the Legends. I ate and ate and ate and still decided to eat dessert. I figure I deserve it. I wanted it, damn it. I haven't had sex since last December, and I wanted at least the endorphins the chocolate provide.

I could taste that slice of cake. It's been months since I've been able to taste sweet things. There was no metal taste. There was no "nothing" taste. It was heaven. I cried...in public. My brother tried to comfort me. The people sitting at the table to my right stared me. My mother exclaimed this to be my "worst year".

Those who know me, know that Me crying near anyone would have to mean something serious was effecting me. I had no clue that I would react that way, but I'm learning a lot about myself. (Like how to love 5 year old Me and late 20's Me) I have a lot more to learn about myself, and thankfully I'll have the rest of my life to learn it all. But right now I'm going to go eat a cookie.

Imagine Ed Asner wearing a red plaid flannel robe with matching spaghetti-strap tank top and thong underwear. Now. Answer me this....why did I dream that?

I have 3 more weeks till my last treatment! 1 till my next, but who cares? I can see the light at the end of this horrible tunnel! Add this one to my list of ten (now 11) things that make me smile.

There is something oddly beautiful and yet slightly disturbing about Johnny Depp on a cereal box. I usually require breakfast to be somewhat healthy for the kids, but I had to buy this. You know it's for me.

Now if only they would make Jet Li or Bruce Lee into a cereal phenomenom I'd be happy.

As a teeenager I heard a country song that made me despise the style until my later years. I just could not understand why the music was filled with God and country and love won or lost (yah yah that's most music) and in this particular one I just couldn't figure out why they made the song. Until Thursday.

You see the song was about how much the singer loved his dog. He actually recorded and produced a song about his dog. Ok. I was a cynical bitch growing up. Still am for the most part, but I learned something about myself on that Thursday. I love my dog.

I was giddy about it being only 97 degrees outside (?) and with the possibility of rain and cooler weather for the next day, so with Kool-Aid in hand and dog at feet I walked outside to enjoy the outdoor bathroom that Kansas had become this past week. I noticed 2 crazy cyclists coming up the road. Cyclists happen to be Chika's favorite prey, but our road is 30 MPH and routinely has people going 50 on it. That makes for a very unfriendly road. I kept Chi's eyes on me as I walked up to her and was just about to grab her when she heard the 2 men. She caught sight of them and bolted right after them.

I have been in pain these few days. It's the sideeffects. Every time my foot hit the ground as I hobbly ran after Chika, severe pain shot up my spine. I had to stop running. I kept screaming. Literally shrill screams. A car was coming. The driver slammed on her brakes but it was too late. I heard that heart wrenching thud and dog squeal. I dropped my glass and fell to the ground. I really don't think I could gracefully handle anymore crap in my life right now.

Luckily, my damndog came running towards me still squealing and yelping, tail between her legs. I was bawling. My little familiar was potentially killed by her stupidity and my bad ownership. My children saw of course and were running up trying figure out what they should do. The driver took note of the situation and came back. She felt so guilty. I kept telling her that it wasn't her fault. I feel sorry for her. She had her kids with her too.

Can you imagine? You're driving with your kiddos and run over some other kiddos' small dog in front of them while their bald chemopatient mother is screaming "NO" and falling to the ground crying. I feel sorry for her. That'd suck.

Fortunately, I didn't have a "Pets Are Small Tragedies Waiting To Happen" moment. She was just scratched, bruised, and scared shitless. I hope she (I) learned her (my) lesson

So now to the song and my inner gooiness. I love my dog. How could I not? She stayed with me and protected me during the horrible parts of this past year. I kept waking her up that night to make sure she was alive. I pissed her off a few times. That's a good thing. I remembered that song that night and finally understood it. I still don't like the tune, but I love the message.

While at the oncologist's office today, I heard a bragging teenager showing off to his family his knowledge of the American language. He insisted that a certain word was not in our dictionary. What I can gather is that he either heard this gem of knowledge from an indiot and he didn't look it up or he had NO CLUE how to spell the word. The word was "gullible". His momma told him how to spell it and gave him the definition, but the boy insisted that it wasn't in the English dictionary.

Poor gullibe thing.

To be fair...I remember my adolescent insistence of my superior intellect. But now before a final judgement I want to be faced with the other side of the issue. I'm female I like it complicated.

I don't know about you guys, but I'm trying real hard to understand our country's "liberal" (conservative) media's attempt to villify Lebanon when you take into account Israel's past history of unfair treatments of Palastinians, brutal retaliations towards terrorism (poor man's wars), and the current attempts of eradicating Hezbollah ( Southern Lebanese people).

I know you automatically know my position from this, but I'm still trying to figure it out. My fundamentalist folks are eagerly awaiting the Armegedon with a sickening childlike zeal. In past outbursts of mine I have described my dislike for the desertgod and its followers. It seems that they're trying their best for a self fullfilling prophecy at the expense of others. So the next quandry I come to is this: do I secretly want it to happen to get rid of all three sides of this silly tri-monotheist religion? I'm at a philisophical crossroad.

I understand I might sound like an antisemite. I'm not exactly. I just don't like policies of ethnic groups that decry their bumwrap while bestowing the same upon other ethnic groups. I understand the arab world not trusting them because of their arsenal either bought from US or made by them.

We certainly sell them hardware for interesting purposes. If you recall the American by the name Rachel ( I can't remeber her last name) who stood in front of the armed Catepillar bulldozer that destroyed not only the house that contained a family but the life of that 21 year-old woman.

That house was the home of a "suspected" hamas fighter not a convicted one. Seems harsh. To dislocate an entire family on the grounds of being relation, don't you think? I don't hear of justice when Israelis attack Palastinian kids on their way school seriously injurying their escorts. Fuck. All I worry about is my kids getting hit by a car. (They had an escort last year)

I'm not saying that the Palastinians are innocent. I remember the bomb that killed 11 one year-olds in a pizzeria a fews years back. I'm not saying Hezbollah is innocent. They did kill 8 and kidnap 2 another country's soldiers. By no means am I saying any of them are innocent. I'm just saying that the news media's coverage is so one sided to a country that has consistantly exasperated situations. Yes, I know who is the biggest monetary supporters of Israel. Stupid, stubborn, prideful, unempathetic people. all of 'em.

Sorry. I came home to find grandpa glued to FOX.

Treatment number 6!

The festivities start the day before, so today I've had my blood drawn and quartered to see if my body's reacting negatively to this shit. Interesting word...negatively. Anyway, I eat my 5 steroids tonight and 5 tomorrow morning along with a benedryl and a pepcid. For afterwards I take 3 advils in the morning, 3 in the afternoon, and 3 in the evening to stave off painful aches and what not.

Ok now. Do you want to hear this part? If not don't read this paragraph. It's the reason why I might not get this treatment right away. I've been bleeding out my ass for well over a week. Do I win the embarassing poopshute story competition yet? Yes, I have an excuse, but still this is about to break the proverbial camel's back. I'll find out later if I get to go through with it, postpone it, or get a blood transfusion. If you read this and are grossed out...serves you right. I warned you.

But Dear Ones, I won't leave you in a dark formidable place such as that.

While all the commotion in my life seems to get me down, I do find lots of reasons to smile, laugh, and have a sense of peace.
1. I know my PinkZilla loves me (even when I'm cranky).
2. I know PinkZilla would be taken care of and loved if anything should ever happen to me.
3. I have kept not only 1 but 2 rose bushes alive and disease and pest free (thanks Bertha).
4. My dog doesn't leave my side except for a few minutes at a time.
5. The chicory is blooming. They're blue flowering weeds you'll see on the sides of roads in
Kansas. By far they're my favorite flower. They're tenacious.
6. I have an open road in front of me that's full of opportunities. (Did I mention blue flowers
make me happy?)
7. I have an interesting set of friends near and far that I love. Goddess bless 'em everyone.
8. I ran bald headed toward a group of about 20 men on bicycles (yum) with my arms waving
and screaming "sorry" (thanks, damn aforementioned dog). I really I wish had a camera.
9. I got to see a movie with my favorite things: giant octopus, beating hearts, & Johnny Depp.
'Tis the stuff dreams are made of. Yarggghhh!
10. I have a strong albeit extremely annoying woman behind me encouraging and pushing me
(thanks mom).

Some of this sounds silly, but seriously all of it and much more have made it so I don't fall into an emotional pit.

Kalli, thanks for your encouragement! You're an inspiration!

I've been bald for about two months. Luckily, I've kept my eyebrows and lashes. I've noticed that those are starting to leave me now. I noticed that yesterday. yay.

I've been having vivid dreams since I don't sleep very well, but I never noticed my hair in those dreams. Now I've noticed that all of the dreams that I remember from last night were about my hair and different styles I could get with my hair.

I miss my hair. I didn't have exceptionally beautiful hair, but I liked it. I can't help but to wonder what started me to think about it. Could it be my bald cousin (male) who came over for a cookout and insisted that I spend the afternoon bald with him? My fear of taunts from the neighborhood teenagers that passed me by while I biked around the block that morning? (I biked! No, they didn't taunt. They just looked quizzical.) Could it be because I watched "Pretty in Pink"? (It had many interesting hairstyles from the early to mid 80's.) I think it was a combination of those three things.

Wow. The things aerosol spray could do! The things Bertha can do! I want an appointment for a color and a cut! Yarrgh! All this bemoaning the loss of hair, but I still don't want to put a wig on yet! Go figure.

I had a bit of a deja vu last night. My folks had friends over last night for a game of cards. That's been a tradition with this couple ever since I was about Eva's age. The deja vu was what me and the tykes decided to watch. Drunken Master. Jackie Chan in his earlier years.

I spent much of my childhood watching old kung fu movies because those very same people who came over last night didn't have girls to play with and god forbid me playing with the boys. So lonely girl me had to content herself with Kung Fu Theater on channel 62.

I learned early the thrills of loud kicks, swooshing fabric noises, and the occasional clanging of weapons. Those nights began in me a desire to learn about other cultures and eat foods other than the meat and potatoes my farm raised mother prepared every night. I also believe it started the division of understanding between me and the rest of my family.

This division is still alive and well. (I know you all feel that gap in understanding between you and your folks.) While the guests were leaving, the last most important fight was taking place. My father who loves good Manly male on male violence in movies sat down to watch it. He didn't get it. There was heart in it that he didn't pick up on. You know. The whole Asian familial piety thing. It gets lost on a man who still wants to be John Wayne or Clint Eastwood in his younger years. (Clint's too emotionally complex now and violence should always be used to defend your vulnerable woman or child)

Now comes my Proud Momma Moment. My kids decided to emulate the movie by taking turns being teacher and student. Kicking and punching into the air and imitating the silly pratfall antics that Jackie Chan puts into all his movies.

Grandpa was beside himself. He flat out told me that these movies were inappropriate for kids. I asked him of his lack of concern of what I did when the cards were dealt while I was gowing up. He then pointed out the "bad" outcome I've had. Interesting.

I had to smile throughout the whole conversation because not once did my PinkZilla hurt themselves or stop playing. I think I might get through to my babies yet even though we're here in ultra-christian-land.

We're almost moved in, and we're adjusting to life at the old folk's home. It will be interesting to say least. To get our stuff here we enlisted the help of friends and family and then treated them to beer and BBQ. This was a tiring week, but it's almost over.

Two nights ago we watched 5 foxes play on my new/old neighbor's driveway. It was great! My kids were taking their baths,and I told them to get out and take a look. Grif jumped out and ran to their room where we could see them. Eva stayed in her bath. She has a habit of not listening to anyone. Finally Grif couldn't stand it any more. He started hollering at her to get out or she'd miss 'em. She jumped out, I handed her a towel, and she ran to the bedroom. She watched the foxes for awhile getting all giddy and dropping her towel on floor. I had walked back to my room when I heard her giggling and yelling something at the top of her voice. I turned and saw a small, naked, pink human skipping down the hallway screaming, "it's exciting! It's exciting! It's exciting!".

There are somethings that are going to happen here that will make this all worthwhile.

I have one last treatment to go through. I kicked PA out for not helping in the hairiest (baldest) of times. I moved in with my folks to have someone around during the scariest of moments.

I'm scared of the next one. The last one I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking that if I fell asleep, I'd die. I kept hearing cracking noises, and if anything moved, I saw tracers just like I did when I tripped in highschool/ early college. The first one I thought of death. The second I just thought sucked. This one I actually thought I was dying. That's a weird feeling. I don't want it ever again.

I couldn't take care of PinkZilla. I needed someone in the medical field around me. PA was smoking crack that whole time completely oblivious to what was going on in his home. This why we're at my folks. It's temporary (2 weeks more). I know you Goddesses would've helped if you could, but I kept thinking that at 11:30 on a Saturday night either ya'll be out or asleep with your children. It would've been hard to find someone able to come over. So no guilt trips please!

I'll be back out in good old Lawrence soon. I come out almost everyday. I literally have no energy, but that won't stop me from getting in my yard for short amounts or starting a project sitting down. It was good to see the Goddeses and their friends that I saw this weekend. It really cheered me up. Thanks.

I was nervous and embarrassed about my shaved head. I still don't like males staring at me. That happened this morning at a gas station where there were swarming landscapers and contactors. PA was kind and told me I was still beautiful when he noticed my reaction to the situation.

Later in the morning I took a shower. I now have less hair than my last boyfriend. I'm going to have PA bic it when PA gets home. It's funny cuz now even though I cried about the cancer, I have more confidence about the hair (scalp) thing. It's true. Baldness can be liberating and strangely beautiful. I kind of like it.

It's obvious that I have the esteem of a lowly worm, and I used my hair as a security blanket to shield me from (supposed) looks and judging of folk that don't mean a damn thing in my life. Silly goose that I am. In my younger years I found shocking behavior hilarious, but as an adult I didn't want to be looked at by anyone. Now I'm going to test myself even more. I will have to find my worth and beauty without some of the things that women make worthy (beautiful).

I don't like saying that but deep down or even at the surface we all have to acknowledge the societal temperaments towards "accepted" beauty. I'm not talking about personal preference, but generalized attitudes even the most stout hearted people can unwittingly take to heart and mind.

I think everyone of you is gorgeous. I don't flatter and can't stand insincerity. I don't like sameness. I get bored easily. Thank Goddess ya'll are different. Goddesses and Queens. You know there's a few fellas I have to acknowledge as well. Mazel Tav to you all!