I am so happy that this writer's strike is over. Because now, on Sunday nights, after I manage to get the kids to bed before 8:00 (while other kids are still outside playing!), I can just sit for 3 hours, sip on some wine, and watch TV. First Desperate Housewives, then Brother & Sisters, and finally The Tudors.
I don’t have to think about anything!
Not about this dumb cancer.
Or how long it’s going to take for my hair to grow back before I actually start looking like a girl again.
Or how I’m going to get through this summer wearing an ugly mastectomy swimsuit.
Or when I can get this reconstruction done.
Or what in the world I’m going to do next year without working again.
Or when I can just look and feel normal again.
Or if this cancer is gone for good.
Or what I’ll do if I have to ever go through this again.
Etc. Etc. Etc.
One might think that I’m avoiding some issues. But the way I figure it, I think about this stuff way too much. And it’s nice to have a few hours to think about someone else’s non-existent drama for just a few hours.
(And I’ll try not to continue to think of such silliness until the shows return the following Sunday).