So this is a rough night. I’m shaky and exhausted, but wide awake with a brain that ain’t gonna rest. Severely cracked lips and mouth sores and chills and (sorry) a bit of bunged-upness is not helping. Other stuff is going on too, but I just admitted that I’m constipated on social media and that’s my TMI limit for the day.

I know all of these symptoms are normal and I know there are other symptoms I could be enduring right now that would be worse (and maybe those are coming, who knows?). But it’s all starting and that makes me nervous, which is probably not helping the whole brain racing thing.

But here’s a fact. In a few hours I know I can call my boss for a day off to rest and she’s gonna let me do that. I know the request is gonna go to HR and be approved and I’ll still have a job and a paycheck. It’s just Dan and me here at the house. There are no little mouths and brains and running feet to worry about. I can just rest. And if I get bad at some point, I have a way to get to medical help and am not worried about losing my house because of whatever bills will accrue. And right now I can watch Bernadette Peters () on a streaming TV show to entertain and distract me. I can go on, but you get the picture.

Not everyone can say those things. When I say “Fuck cancer” it’s not for me. I’m fortunate, privileged even (I don’t care if you don’t like that word, it’s true). I say “Fuck cancer” because there are those who don’t have all the resources I so take for granted. And cancer needs to fucking die.