Sick o' dis

I am mightily sick of chemo, and cancer and everything that goes with it. I don't wanna hear about it, don't wanna think about it, don't wanna see it, don't wanna talk about it. It must be day three: the bad day.

It is a good day to be Italian. It's a good day to be young, energetic, wild, rich, happy. It's a good day to be running. To be careless. To be going fast. To feel the wind in your hair and all that crapola. To be ravenous! To run into the pounding surf with your clothes still on. All that car/beer/shampoo/fragrance-ad shit.

The people around me want to live normal lives. I'm too freakin tired for normal life. Friends want to eat delicious food in shiny new restaurants. I can't tolerate even thinking about food. My cats even want more than I can give right now. They want rides on my back and chase games. I just want to lie in a heap.

I am mightily sick o' dis. I hate cancer.