The Eve of Day One (#4)

It dawned upon me during conversation tonight that the entire month of August (for teachers, anyway) is like the Sunday of every weekend, except drawn out to 31 days long. By the time you finally get relaxed, you have it in the back of your mind that you have to go back to work the next day. Your time to unwind is finite and pretty soon, your (breadwinning) job is back in your life, other people’s children the main focus of 8+ hours of every day (and evening and weekend…).

July is the lazy month. July is filled with TV watching and naps, shopping and leisurely trips to the pool. July is the reading month. Since summer is the only time of year I have the time and energy to read for pleasure, I have to cram in as many good books as possible. I used to be in a book club and we read together throughout the school year, but once most of us had kids, it was too hard to keep up with, and the club is no more. Still, since I get at least 5 or 6 good reads in over the summer, I can discuss them with friends all year round. July is good for that. The sofa and I become close again during this first month of vacation.

August is usually the most productive month for me, as I know September comes next and the endless items on the To Do list (that I had been creating all year long and then added to during those sluggish days of July) are not going to do themselves. Once I get started on crossing shit off, I am a machine. Watch out. I can bang out craft projects and fill out forms like nobody’s business. I enjoy being an efficient, contributing member of my household (and society).

Now that I’ve felt able to get things accomplished (bring on the to do list, baby) for the past week or so, it’s very frustrating to have to offer up my body for its next dose of poison tomorrow. I must walk into the clinic and willingly offer myself up to feel like crap on toast for the next 2 weeks. All in the name of healing.

In the spirit of cramming in as many “normal” daily activities during my feel-good days, Dan and I went to see Eat Pray Love last night. I read the book a few years ago (my final book of the Summer of 2008) and remembered enjoying it. **SPOILER ALERT** Liz Gilbert (writer of the book/main character of film) was depressed (I could relate) and her solution to recovering from a traumatic divorce was to go off for a year and travel to the most amazing places, eat the best food, and fall in love again. It’s your basic self-indulgent, girl divorces boy, boy takes all of girl’s money, girl gets advance on book deal, girl goes all into herself as she travels the world alone, girl gains 10 pounds, girl meditates, girl learns, girl finds new exotic boy, girl falls in love and gets remarried story. I was never that good at summarizing (don't tell my 4th graders), I like details too much.

There’s a certain part of the movie where she says to her best friend, “I don’t know how you’re not sick of me by now. Even I’m sick of myself!” I was like YES! I am so sick of me. I’m so sick of me being sick, and everything being all about me being sick.

Going in for treatment tomorrow is of course something I have to do. And I will try my best to focus on the promise that there will be a day when I don’t have to go back for another round. I will wear my F#@K CANCER shirt (thank you Jax) and nothing on my head (it’s an oncology office, dammit) and I will have my shiatsu massage (thank you Wayne) and come home and start to recover. Again. I will do that.

This all leads to the realization that this August may be perhaps the most productive one of my life.

**

I know many of you are wondering about a few things that I don’t have the energy to write about at the moment: Judah's renal scan, which is thankfully now behind us, my chaise (seriously amazing and I am laying in it as I type) and today’s adventure to Sesame Place. To you, my wonderfully supportive teammates, I give a guarantee. Each of these topics will be getting their own posts. They each deserve the time, thoughtfulness and effort I don’t have tonight. But they're coming.

xxoo