I just had dinner with a good friend of mine from college and as we are leaving I had this realization: this is my most sane friend at the moment, and I feel totally insane sitting here with her trying to have a normal conversation. And then on the way home I realized that this is also a person who is investing significant amounts of time and energy in her spare time working on the following recession layoff contingency plan: a homemade popsicle business. This sort of idea is just one more endearing example of the eccentricity that makes her so lovable, but it is worth mentioning in this context as the bar for sanity that I have set recently, and how far from it I am feeling lately.
Most of the time these days I feel like I am standing in the middle of a great windstorm with all the essential components of my life whipping around me, ungraspable. Maybe that's not true, maybe that's just the metaphor that comes to mind because I can still feel the wind on my cheeks from the icy winter snow storm I walked home in tonight. But I do feel off balance and it seems harder than usual to regain my footing these days. I know that is perfectly understandable--My cancer has relapsed, I am in a long-distance relationship, I am back to work, which is great, but the politics at union are such these days that I feel constantly underseige, one of my roommates just moved out, and failed to communicate properly about it, so those of us remaining were left scrambling to find a subletter while we continued to wait for the closing of the sale of the building we live in and get to meet the new owner and learn whether or not we can stay here, and at what price, and I will be starting chemo in a couple of days and the roommate took her couch. So it is perfectly reasonable to feel a little crazy. But I just don't know what to do with it all.
I know that writing helps me flesh things out, but there is just so much that I never know where to start. I think I am going to start seeing a therapist. I am a little worried that I will put up too many walls with a stranger to really let down in that scenario, but I'm putting up walls with everyone else in my life right now, so why not try a new context? If I could allow myself the space to cry in for an hour every week--even if I never finished a complete sentence--it would probably be therapeutic enough to do a great deal of good.
I'm not sure what else to say. I think I've been building walls against myself, because I can feel the turmoil building in my chest. And my brain can list all the things that are making me crazy. But my brain can't quite access the feeling in my chest to be able to articulate the emotional consequences of that ever growing list of worries my brain keeps adding to. And so I am all stopped up. And I wish I could pour baking soda and vineagar down my throat to unclog my pipes and have done with it all.
I guess that's sort of what the chemo is trying to do.