Friday, January 27, 2006

Home alone...and not answering the phone.

I carry two phones with me everywhere I go. One is for work and one is not. When the one ending with the number 8 rings, I know I should answer it in my grown up voice. When the one ending with the number 7 rings, I know its someone I like at least well enough to have given them my number. (Or its someone who has visited the restroom at Big Mike's Diesel & Bait.)

Today I know the big city boobie doctor is hunting me down, so each time 8 rings, I push the ignore button. I'm not exactly eager to actually schedule an appointment to have something done to my girls which was described to me by a jackleg doctor no bigger than my son, as "uncomfortable".

Mr. Man is off toting a badge and a gun and my son is glued to PS2. That leaves me lots of free time to think about every single thing I have no business thinking about.

Like what exactly will that word "uncomfortable" mean to me and what will I do if these tiny little grains of glowing boobie sand I saw on the xrays are something that begins with the letter c and ends with a dirt nap.

Welcome to crazy. Please keep your arms and legs inside the ride.

My friends say, "Don't worry."

I say, "Have we met? And by the way, is that the best you can muster? Don't worry?" And then I pinch them... really hard. On their boobies.

What I really want is a friend that says to me, "I know you're afraid and that's ok because I'm afraid, too. I don't want anything to happen to you because you matter to me."

How hard is that? Come on people. Telling me not to worry is like putting a Moon Pie in front of me and telling me not to microwave it 'til it pops before I eat it.

My mind has run the gammit. I can go from gigantic biopsy needles to wigs to cremation in 5 seconds and not break a sweat. I remember my grandmother and breast cancer and ten months of death. I remember my friend and cancer and letters and cards of good-bye. And no matter how often I hear, "Don't worry", my brain says, "WORRY! WORRY AS FAST AS YOU CAN!"

I'm pathetic. I need a brainwasher person to give my gray matter a good scrub. Know anyone?



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2 comments:

ruaseeker2 said...

You DO have every right to be afraid, and I afraid with you. But, you also have every right to believe that you will be blogging for decades to come.

I am thinking of you. Good luck.

Sher said...

How sweet of you. Thanks for stopping by and for your kind words.