Tomorrow

Tonight ends the last day of 30 days of treatment with fluorouracil and I'm pretty happy about it. It's been a long month, though admittedly not as long as it might have been in different circumstances. The physical and mental fatigue due to treatment haven't been as bad this time around and I contribute that greatly to the fact that I'm in a better place in my life this time.

Last night we stayed in and watched episodes of Californication, laughed and ate comfort food. We joked about who we are, where we are from and where we are headed. it was one of the best nights that I've had in a very long time and I needed it. I've had some rough patches recently, some moments which piled on top of one another might have broken me down, but haven't. They haven't because they are circumstance and my happiness is much larger, much more durable than that.

We went out for a little while tonight and I felt the taxation on my body, but it was still good to be out amongst friends. A friend hugged me and said I felt crackly, and it was the first time all night long I'd even thought about my physical health. We stayed for just long enough and walked home in the cold, arm in arm, discussing the absurdity of calling people from Michigan "michiganders" and here at home now, we sit by the fire, snacking and getting ready to watch a movie.

I'm happy about today and I'm looking forward to tomorrow.

One hell of a week

This week has been pretty hellacious, beginning with the fact that I'm doing another round of treatment for the med issues that I had last year, followed by the news that my great-grandmother passed away and then the sudden death of my puppy. It's time for me to catch a break.

My great grandmother lived a long, full life and I'm happy for her that she passed peacefully in her sleep. I wish I could have made it home for the funeral, but the last minute expenses made it impossible.

I knew that I'd have to do another round of treatment and thankfully none of the bad cells have progressed, they just haven't all gone away. It's a longer round this time, with less frequency, so it should make it a little easier on me than the last time, but for longer. We'll see what sort of tradeoff that is.

The passing of my puppy Taureau has been pretty hard to take. He choked on something while I took him out for a walk late at night and it caused his tongue to swell and his throat to close. I was holding his windpipe open and breathing into his nose, trying to find the obstruction, when he died in my arms. If it hadn't been for Robyn trying to help me find someplace to take him and Kelly L. talking to me on speaker while I worked on him, I don't know what I would have done.

Kelly is the owner of Zoie, who was Taureau's mom. I've spent many days with Zoie in my lap at Boondock and I've always loved her. When she got pregnant, Kelly told me he wanted me to have one of the pups. He didn't ask for anything from me in return, except that I handle the vet bills and shots. I felt like I let him down, which added to the loss.

Last night Robyn and I met Kelly at Boondock and he brought Zoie and Torin (one of her other puppies) with him. Torin crawled into my lap and Kelly told me that if I wanted him, he wanted me to have him. I sobbed openly and Zoie licked the tears from my face, with a low, mournful groan. I told him that I couldn't possibly, that it didn't seem right for me to take Torin, but that the kindness of the offer was appreciated. He told me to think about it, not to take it off the table just yet and that if I found a moment where I was ready for it, the offer stands.

I'm ready for this week to be over. I'm ready for the month to be over.

The last light of the day

It's time

We'd gotten to know each other over the course of two nights back in August and this is what I wrote the morning she returned to New York:

"Robyn sat across from me, moving and speaking with such purpose, such exuberance. Her skin was fair, her eyes were dark, her lips painted red to match the red bow in her dark hair. She looked like a wicked snow white and I was taken with her beauty from the first moment that I saw her. I’m certain that she knew it, because it was hard for me to take my eyes off of her.

She’s a ballerina and she’s grown up a performer, so there’s a vibrance about her that I adore, an easiness with people which I appreciate. She described to me a photo shoot she’d done recently, just for the hell of it, and I knew that she was going to be hard to get out of my head even after she’d gone back to New York.

Evangeline (who’d introduced us) sat nearby, smiling knowingly as she watched us inch closer to one another. She gave us moments alone and played the perfect(ly devious) chaperone. It’d been her intention to bring this lovely creature to New Orleans to make her fall in love with the city. I was more than happy to help her in her cause.

When the night was over we stood in the front of their hotel. Evangeline left us alone when she went to get room keys. I hugged Robyn, thanked her for company while she thanked me for my hospitality. We parted for people coming through the doors and then we were back together again, having the kiss that we’d been building up to all night.

The doormen at the front laughed and yelled at us to get a room, but we kissed again in spite of them, before finally saying goodnight. I looked back through the closing doors to watch her go, watch her slip away gracefully through the lobby of the beautiful old New Orleans hotel.

I stepped out into the night air and walked down Bourbon Street. The things that I usually find so obnoxious couldn’t affect my mood. The raucous crowd, the music, the lights, the general rowdiness of the night couldn’t wipe the happiness off my face, couldn’t make me stop thinking of her lips, her eyes, her smile."

She came back to visit last week and we had a wonderful time together. She'll be back again two weeks from now and I'm looking forward to her return. In January she's moving here and I have to say that I'm quite thrilled about that. I don't know that I've so thoroughly enjoyed every moment that I've spent with someone like I have enjoyed my time with her...

I put my phone back into my pocket just as M. approached. She smiled and looked just a little puzzled as she studied my face.

“Are you in love?!” she asked.

“What makes you say that?” I responded, caught off guard.

”You look like you are. Whoever you were just talking to has you glowing! You look very happy right now and I think it’s awesome how obvious it is just by looking at you!”

I smiled and studied the red flocked wallpaper as I considered it.

I wear my heart on my sleeve so I shouldn’t be surprised that she could see the happiness in my face, even if she overstated it by referring to it as love. I was surprised however that something was apparent to M. before I’d even realized it myself; that no matter how much I’ve tried to not have any hopes until R. actually moves here this winter, the fact that she’s coming to visit in a few days has it’s place in my smile and I’m very (obviously) happy that I’ll get to see her again soon.

Bella

Supporting the arts

"Ahhh... the freewheeling, liberated 1920's... women finally get the vote, but apparently publishing anecdotes about childhood abuse, your brothers' sexual exploits with the family livestock, and sincere wishes that death and destruction might be visited upon all the members of your backwater Texas family would still get a girl institutionalized and kicked out of Great Britain.

Edna Gertrude Beasley is the most incendiary feminist author you've never heard of. Her autobiography, "My First Thirty Years," was banned upon its publication in 1925 for "gross obscenity," and most copies were destroyed in U.S. and British customs offices. Some eventually made it into circulation, though the governor of Texas later sent the Texas Rangers to seek out and seize any copies that had managed to infiltrate his great state."

This one woman show stars Veronica Russell who is a friend and fellow Noisician Coalition member. She's taking the show on a six city tour across Canada next summer and has she's started a Kickstarter project to raise money to participate in the Canadian Fringe theater festivals.

I saw the show performed here in New Orleans and it was wonderful. I believe in it enough to have donated to it and also to pander shamelessly to you. Have a look at the video and if you feel so inclined, follow the link and support the arts by donating to her KickStarter project!

Indian summer

Yesterday was a series of adventures, moments leading from one to the next. They were all different, all significant (to me) in one way or another.

I was up early, planning on meeting my friend Paul so that we could walk to the Superdome for my first Saint's game. I'd never seen them play live and I'd never set foot in the infamous Superdome, so it was a day for firsts. It was Paul's first game as well (he's from England, where they play football with their feet).

"So this is what Sunday morning in New Orleans looks like, eh?" he said as we walked through the quite morning streets. It made me think instantly of Johnny Cash's "Sunday Morning Coming Down".

We waited for Leo and another friend (also called Paul) at Cafe Adelaide, where I ordered a mimosa and Paul had a bloody mary with so many vegetables in it that it required pruning before he could drink it. We considered the fact that New Orleans has to be a great destination for away team fans, as opposed to, say; the appeal of New Orleanians going to Cleveland to see a game.

Leo and the other Paul arrived and we wandered to the Superdome, which was only a few blocks away. We talked excitedly about the differences in attendance from pre-Katrina until now and how Leo's been a season ticket holder for ages. While we climbed the stairs to go tot he terrace where we'd be sitting, people sang "When the Saints go marching in" and chanted "who dat" in a way that made me excited to be there. I considered that New Orleans has a beautiful ability to celebrate, even in a place that could have been tainted by tragedy. When I caught a glimpse of the field, I smiled brightly, happy to be there with the company I was keeping, having another unique New Orleans experience.

The game itself was a bit of a tragedy, but it was still fun to watch. Afterwards we walked home int he rain, stopping at an Irish pub to get a drink and then wandering on after the rain had ended so that we could get something to eat. We picked up and lost people along the way, but it was all good fun.

The entire night would turn out to be a changing cast of faces, with Paul being the one constant. We'd see our way from one place to the next and others would come and go, each of them leaving something memorable of themselves behind in the story of where we'd been all day. When Paul finally made his way home with his girlfriend, I wandered home myself.

I was enjoying the Indian summer, which allowed me to wear short sleeves into the evening for perhaps the last time this year. I could smell the little bit of dampness that the day of rain had left behind and it was nice. My footsteps were the only noise I could hear, which I noticed because such quiet is rare anywhere near the French Quarter. I thought about how it was time to carve a pumpkin and that I hadn't done that in years. I thought about how I wanted to dress up for Halloween, because it'd been a while since I'd really done that too. I thought about the places, the faces, the day that I'd seen, tasted, smelled and touched and I smiled, because this is my life and right now I can't imagine wanting any other.

Exquisite distractions

I had no expectations for the day, which I find is often for the best. In having nothing in particular to accomplish, I managed to fill my day with exquisite distractions.