If my story was a Lifetime movie- and by all accounts, it has just what a good Sunday afternoon, Thursday at 3am, cable movie should be- there would be a pivotal scene that played out in my bathroom the other night. Tori Spelling would play me... or maybe the chick who played Andy on Dawson's Creek. Anyway, Tori would be chubby and bald (and perhaps her movie-lumpectomy would have fixed the unfortunate boob job she got in real life). She would be nauseas and grumpy and tired of laying in bed for two days. Tired of feeling like shit. Tired of feeling sore. Tired of trying to be productive and work, or pack or whatever and tired of having to stop after 5 minutes. She would be taking a shower trying to feel better. Finally, Tori would just sit down in the shower, too tired to stand. She would cry. No, she would sob. Not really sure why, so I guess I couldn't give Tori her motivation. Needless to say, she would cry for a good 10 minutes. Although ten minutes is a little much for TV- even on Lifetime, so they'd had to cut to a commercial to help you with your outbreak of genital herpes.
Back to Tori- She would be crying wondering what happened to her. Finally her Lifetime movie husband would come to her aid. As Tori's hubby sits and rubs her back, not sure what to say, Tori's voice would be heard, wondering what happened to the person this wonderful man married. The woman who wasn't scared, who wasn't bald and chubby, the woman who didn't cry in the shower. What happened to the woman who grabbed life by the balls? Why did that woman no longer have the energy to even take a shower?
The scene would be very poignant. Women like me would cry.
Needless to say, the past few days have been a little rough. I have spent about 2 and a half days unable to really get out of bed. Our A/C is turned down to 65 and still Alan put a fan on my bedside table. I've tried to pack (I'm moving in a week, remember?) and I've tried to work. Can't do either. This is the most I've been up and going since Thursday. I'm also now on some wonderful narcotic. The bone pain is terrible. Although for some reason, french fries are the only things I can taste.
Back to the shower scene. Being as it's my life, of course, the scene would end with my golden retriever, Kylie. The same one who cried and jumped to be with me the day I sobbed in my parent's laundry room when I found out I had cancer. Kylie heard me crying and wanted to help me so badly, she tried to climb in the tub with me. See, it can't be all bad. I stopped crying just long enough to laugh.
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