Having a hard time lately shaking off this feeling of impending doom. It's like when Charlotte in the Sex and the City movie won't go on her usual runs in the park after she finds out she's pregnant because she's scared. “No one gets everything she wants,” she says. That's what I feel like these days. OK, this week.
Of course this has to do with the upcoming CT scan. It's been 6 months since the last one; that's the longest I've gone. The rational side of me says, that's great. The further out from diagnosis I am with no visible trace of disease, the better. The irrational crazy side of me wonders why am I so lucky? Those teeny tiny cancer cells have come back and are multiplying, we just haven't been able to see them yet.
I've been too cavalier with my health lately. I've let the pounds pile back on. I'm inconsistent with my workouts. I enjoy my martinis too much. I'm mean to people who piss me off. And I'm worried I'll be punished for all of it.
Yes, it's stupid and irrational. But that's the way I'm feeling.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Live Free or Die
I was tooling down Daniel Webster Highway in Nashua stopping in at this store or that because that's what you do when you're in Nashua. My Ford Escape hybrid has Massachusetts license plates, and it is adorned with bumper stickers of various Democratic candidates, from our state senator to our governor to our president. This is something I rarely think about; it just is.
I was in the right lane; the driver's side window was down because it was warm and sunny. Furious beeping started and I looked around to see what was going on. A red pickup truck zoomed past me; the driver was simultaneously leaning on his horn and giving me a determined thumbs down.
It took me a minute: My bumper stickers. I've never had that happen to me before. You have to be pretty pissed off to go out of your way to honk your horn repeatedly and gesture out the window while traveling at 40 miles per hour or so.
It makes me determined to get even more stickers in the next election cycle and travel to Nashua more often.
I was in the right lane; the driver's side window was down because it was warm and sunny. Furious beeping started and I looked around to see what was going on. A red pickup truck zoomed past me; the driver was simultaneously leaning on his horn and giving me a determined thumbs down.
It took me a minute: My bumper stickers. I've never had that happen to me before. You have to be pretty pissed off to go out of your way to honk your horn repeatedly and gesture out the window while traveling at 40 miles per hour or so.
It makes me determined to get even more stickers in the next election cycle and travel to Nashua more often.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
My Bullies
The bullying tragedy in western Massachusetts has rightfully received a lot of press, with columnists and psychologists and educators commenting on aspects of the case from cause and prevention to warning signs and severity of punishment. I bet there are many of us who can remember an incident or two from our far gone (or not so far gone) school days. Here's mine.
I really, really liked high school. I had a lot of friends, got good grades, and remember laughing a lot both in and outside the classroom. Except for a 3 month period as a freshman, during the spring of 1972.
I was 14 and he was 18; a senior. And not just any senior. He was on the football team. He had just been voted “Best Looking” for the annual yearbook. Not only good looking with his swept back, medium length brown hair and chiseled cheekbones, he was charming and funny and sweet. All the senior girls were gaga over him. He hung out with everyone, not “dating” anyone in particular.
He started talking to me in the hallway between classes. I can remember feeling my cheeks grow bright red as I was singled out. “Hey, what class do you have next?” “I'm going the same way. Let's go!” After about a week of this, he started calling my house and we would talk almost every night. I remember being on the phone for a long time, but I don't remember what exactly we talked about. He laughed at my jokes. I was floating. I was one of those annoying little girls that always “liked” a boy. Or two or three. And boys always liked me. But, still, this was pretty heady stuff.
We went public: movies (Dirty Harry), dinner (lasagna at the local Italian restaurant). And then, the senior girls went into action.
I started getting tripped in the hallway at school. Scathing looks. Pairs of senior girls would walk behind me and whisper loudly. The phone would ring repeatedly at night, and there would be nobody on the line. (We had a yellow rotary dial wall phone in the kitchen. My parents had a table phone in their bedroom, which was quite advanced for our day. No caller ID. No *69.)
Then came the day of the Girls Club vote. The Girls Club was ostensibly a service group set up to fundraise for good causes. It was for girls in grades 10-12. The glitch was that the current members voted in the new freshmen members. I was sunk. The senior girls, one in particular whose name I still remember and would never have had a chance with him even if I was not in the picture (sorry, it still pisses me off), orchestrated my black balling. Every one of my friends got in. Not me.
I never said a word. We continued to go out; have fun. I would listen for the chug of his beige VW Beetle as it made its way up our street to our house. He would come in, talk to my mom, and we'd be off. We went to his house; I met his family and sprayed his little sisters with the hose as we washed the Beetle. He was the first boy to tell me he loved me. In retrospect, I can't believe how well mannered and controlled he was. Sure, we parked and kissed and a little bit more, and I would have rolled for him in a minute. But he never asked for it; it was never an issue.
We double dated with his friends and their girlfriends who were quite nice to me, although also warning me to be careful at school. Notes started appearing on my locker. “Bitch” and “Slut” are what I remember. More phone hang ups.
Then, he stopped calling. Just like that. Even worse, he didn't show up for a long standing date we had discussed for the school's gym show. I was crushed. I didn't see him at school anymore. I cried and cried and cried as only a heartbroken 14 year old can.
A couple of weeks passed and then he showed up at my house unannounced. I was in my room, and I thought, once again, I heard the chugging of the Beetle. I looked out the window and couldn't believe it. We sat on the front porch and he told me he thought is was unfair to feel so deeply for someone when he would be leaving home soon. He realized he was wrong to just stop talking to me; he thought that was all he had to do. He was sorry. At that time, I believed him but I think I would have believed anything he told me. Who knows. He drove off and that was that.
In light of the recent headlines, I wondered what my life would have been like if there had been Facebook and the internet and texting in the 70's. I remember the viciousness of those girls way back then. Today, they would have had many more tools of torture. Who knows what would have happened to me.
Just something I'm thinking about.
I really, really liked high school. I had a lot of friends, got good grades, and remember laughing a lot both in and outside the classroom. Except for a 3 month period as a freshman, during the spring of 1972.
I was 14 and he was 18; a senior. And not just any senior. He was on the football team. He had just been voted “Best Looking” for the annual yearbook. Not only good looking with his swept back, medium length brown hair and chiseled cheekbones, he was charming and funny and sweet. All the senior girls were gaga over him. He hung out with everyone, not “dating” anyone in particular.
He started talking to me in the hallway between classes. I can remember feeling my cheeks grow bright red as I was singled out. “Hey, what class do you have next?” “I'm going the same way. Let's go!” After about a week of this, he started calling my house and we would talk almost every night. I remember being on the phone for a long time, but I don't remember what exactly we talked about. He laughed at my jokes. I was floating. I was one of those annoying little girls that always “liked” a boy. Or two or three. And boys always liked me. But, still, this was pretty heady stuff.
We went public: movies (Dirty Harry), dinner (lasagna at the local Italian restaurant). And then, the senior girls went into action.
I started getting tripped in the hallway at school. Scathing looks. Pairs of senior girls would walk behind me and whisper loudly. The phone would ring repeatedly at night, and there would be nobody on the line. (We had a yellow rotary dial wall phone in the kitchen. My parents had a table phone in their bedroom, which was quite advanced for our day. No caller ID. No *69.)
Then came the day of the Girls Club vote. The Girls Club was ostensibly a service group set up to fundraise for good causes. It was for girls in grades 10-12. The glitch was that the current members voted in the new freshmen members. I was sunk. The senior girls, one in particular whose name I still remember and would never have had a chance with him even if I was not in the picture (sorry, it still pisses me off), orchestrated my black balling. Every one of my friends got in. Not me.
I never said a word. We continued to go out; have fun. I would listen for the chug of his beige VW Beetle as it made its way up our street to our house. He would come in, talk to my mom, and we'd be off. We went to his house; I met his family and sprayed his little sisters with the hose as we washed the Beetle. He was the first boy to tell me he loved me. In retrospect, I can't believe how well mannered and controlled he was. Sure, we parked and kissed and a little bit more, and I would have rolled for him in a minute. But he never asked for it; it was never an issue.
We double dated with his friends and their girlfriends who were quite nice to me, although also warning me to be careful at school. Notes started appearing on my locker. “Bitch” and “Slut” are what I remember. More phone hang ups.
Then, he stopped calling. Just like that. Even worse, he didn't show up for a long standing date we had discussed for the school's gym show. I was crushed. I didn't see him at school anymore. I cried and cried and cried as only a heartbroken 14 year old can.
A couple of weeks passed and then he showed up at my house unannounced. I was in my room, and I thought, once again, I heard the chugging of the Beetle. I looked out the window and couldn't believe it. We sat on the front porch and he told me he thought is was unfair to feel so deeply for someone when he would be leaving home soon. He realized he was wrong to just stop talking to me; he thought that was all he had to do. He was sorry. At that time, I believed him but I think I would have believed anything he told me. Who knows. He drove off and that was that.
In light of the recent headlines, I wondered what my life would have been like if there had been Facebook and the internet and texting in the 70's. I remember the viciousness of those girls way back then. Today, they would have had many more tools of torture. Who knows what would have happened to me.
Just something I'm thinking about.
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