My Adventure with Cancer

As I write this, I have sitting in my draft posts an open letter to some puritanical nutcase regarding his take on the sexual revolution. The reason it is in draft stage is that, almost 500 words in (not counting footnotes) I still have a lot to say on the subject.

So why is it when today, upon learning that my uncle's cancer has returned, I was rendered completely speechless?

I found out via facebook, of all things. He created a page called My Adventure with Cancer to update his friends and family on his journey while he fights this disease for the second time. Even after the initial shock, when I'd managed to stop crying and calm myself down a bit, I couldn't bring myself to like the page. Of course I want to be kept up to date. Of course I want to be able to send messages of support. But - and this is going to sound stupid - I kept thinking my FB profile page is going to read Athena McCormick likes My Adventure with Cancer.

I told myself this was stupid. Everyone will understand that Facebook uses very limited language to talk about everything, no one is actually going to think that I like the fact that my uncle has cancer. So I decided to click the dreaded like button, to ensure that I'll get emails or updates will end up in my newsfeed or however the Hell Facebook does things these days. But when I went to do it, I still couldn't. I saw all the messages of support coming in from my uncle's friends, offering prayers and well-wishes and I couldn't think of anything to say. At least, nothing that seemed right. I'm not religious. I pray. I prayed every single day from the time I found out he had cancer the first time, until after the surgery he had to remove it. I had a little chant, so as not to leave anything out. That his surgery would work, that they would get all the cancer, that he would be ok. But offering my prayers to the universe-in-general to a Christian man who knows I don't share his faith seems wrong somehow, like taking a coal-powered train to an environmental protest. I thought, I should tell him I love him - and then I thought, how incredibly awkward would that be? My family love each other, of course we do, but we don't go around saying it all the time, and I kept thinking that if I tell him I love him suddenly, after hearing this news, it's going to look like I think he's going to die.

I've lost three family members to cancer, a much-loved aunt and both of my grandfathers. I imagine a world where every disease is cured, every war ended, any injury can be mended and we all die of cancer. What a horrible imagination I have.

Eventually, I came up with what I wanted to say and I said it - part of it. I put it out into the world and now I just have to hope that it was enough, that it was the right thing to say, that the occasion didn't require something more or less or different.

You would think, in a world like ours, so besieged by terrible diseases, there would be a protocol for this, an etiquette. That somewhere, a prim British lady with white gloves and an ugly hat should be telling young girls what to say when a family member is diagnosed - while the girls balance books on their heads and walk in circles around a reception room. You would think.

There's some comfort, perhaps, in the idea that we're all muddling through this, that no one knows how they're supposed to behave in these situations. And it's nice to know that I come from a family of fighters, of people who don't give up, of people who are determined to beat the odds.

It makes me proud. It really does.

Lomography

This post has nothing whatsoever to do with lomography. Thought I'd clear that up now.

I should be sending out CVs or looking for a place but today I'm choosing activities that won't get bollocks'd up if I have to stop suddenly to vomit, as that seems to be the one thing my body is interested in today.

So I figure blogging is safest; I can always come back and fix spelling errors, or pick up where I left off if I need to reach for yet another Sainsbury's bag. I'm sure you wanted to know all of this. On to other things.

I watched Enemy at the Gates yesterday. It's not really good, but I realized something which had hitherto escaped my notice: my guy looks a lot like Jude Law. Very similar eyes, nose, lips and jaw-line. If Jude Law were a touch more masculine (not that I have anything against the pretty boy thing, but I do enjoy my manly man), they could be brothers. Or cousins. Anyway, it was kind a surprising observation to make and I kept looking back and forth to see if the similarities were really there or if I was just imagining them.

I have so much house work to do today and I haven't done any of it. The guys we live with haven't done their washing up in ages, so the sink is disgusting, but I really did plan to tackle it and then take care of the dishes of ours that have been accumulating beside it. Also, I planned to do some packing, some laundry, some anything. I hate being sick and I hate not knowing what's causing it. Mlah, I may actually have to go see a doctor - and also, as much as I hate being sick at work, I almost think it's worse to be sick on your day off - like the sickness steals the day from you or something.

This is quickly becoming a long, rambling, woe-is-me blog post of nothingness, so I think I'll cut it short there. Hopefully I'll have something a little more cheerful to share next time :)

House Hunting

From what I can gather, British TV falls into 4 categories: Antiques, Cooking, Property and Col. Gaddafi*.

The shows about property always amaze me. You get this middle class British family saying, "Well, we don't really want to go over 800,000 pounds." WhereTF did you get 800,000 pounds? WHERE? Minimum wage here is less than in Canada, and it seems like every one is getting laid off or having their jobs cut. I want 800 K. It would make my life so much easier.

At the moment (well, not right at the moment, since right at the moment, I'm writing this blog) I'm looking for a place. Finding cheap accommodation in a place like Brighton definitely isn't easy, but it's not as hard as, say, finding cheap accommodation with its own w.c. British people share these, it seems. Also, they often share shower rooms. It's a strange ol' world.

Brighton remains lovely and life remains wonderful, despite my still not being able to work and my being rather sick (I've been sick for days. I don't like it). It seems like I'm always fuzzy headed, either from the drugs or the lack thereof, but everything will be worked out soon, I know it (*knock on wood*)

Ok, cutting this short. I'm going to get myself into trouble if I spend the day in bed and blogging, so it's back to the house hunt for me.



*Also East Enders.

I think I'm going to be sick.

My family has been talking a lot about the oil leak the past couple of days. It's almost funny to think that the world really could end in 2012. If they don't do something to stop this, we'll all suffocate.

They is kind of ambiguous term. They are the people who have some sort of grasp of science, some idea of how you would even try to stop something like this... and for some reason, the they that are in charge of - if we're being realistic - the fate of the world are the same dumb bastards who caused this in the first place.

BP. I don't care how much overtime they were offering, what incentives they were giving, if I worked for them, I'd have jumped ship as soon as I found out about this. As if it's not bad enough that they've pretty well doomed the planet, BP's spokespeople seem content to lie repeatedly about the scope of the damages they have caused and the liklihood that they'll be able to fix them.

BP's publicised* estimates are that the leak is pumping five thousand barrels of oil into the water per day. Every non-BP estimate ranges from twenty to over approximately one hundred thousand barrels of oil leaking per day. BP has managed to recover a huge amount of oil. 5,000 barrels a day, as a matter of fact. So how is it that the oil is still leaking? Hmm, let us ponder. Could it be because their 5,000 barrel per day leak estimate is a big load of horse shit? Yes, I think it could be because of that.

Oh, another fun fact. BP won't let any independent scientists collect data from the spill itself, because apparently, how much oil is actually spilling into the gulf is irrelevant - in fact, knowing might detract from the effort to stop the leak. Now, it could just be me being dumb and blonde and uneducated and female, but I would think that actually having facts about the problem might help them figure out the best way to stop it.

I can just imagine the heads of BP discussing this:

Sir, maybe we should let some independents look at this, so they'll know what we're dealing with and be able to help. Are you crazy? Then they'll know what a colossal cock up we've made of this. What else have you got? Um... we could see if we could drill that relief well we've been planning since last month. No, wait. Better idea. We'll drop a big dome on it. Wait, that didn't work? Let's drop a smaller dome on top of the big one. Wait, the exact same thing happened as what happened with the first dome? No problem, we'll fill leak with mud. No, better: pressurised garbage. Sounds good to me. Let me know if nothing works and the species is about to die. No, better just call me if you stop it.

So there we go. I'm pretty sure we're all at least mostly doomed. Time to eat drink and be merry, everyone; tomorrow you might be dead.

*there's a lot to suggest that their internal estimates are much higher.

Did I Say You Could Stop Believing?

I just realized that I completely forgot to write the rest of my update on May 7th, and now I have no idea what I planned to say. So, a new update:

1. I'm still sick, but not as sick.

2. Aigaion Girl is available in 8,000,000 (27) countries around the world.

3.The A/G WORLD TOUR (not tm) started yesterday. Moloch and the book head to Mississauga and from there, who knows? (you can follow the tour's progress here, here, here or here.)

4. My Twitter searched itself for Justin Bieber; I swear to God. I should have taken a screen cap; it was so effing weird.

5. I'm babysitting the office today; getting a fair bit of my own work done.

6. Now that we have Interwebz back, I plan to update this site and Devereaux Court a lot more often, starting with a rather lengthy post about gender bias in the book market.

7. I don't have this many things; I just feel like I should stretch this out to ten points.

8. The stuff for FanExpo is coming together nicely. I'm still trying to figure out how many books to bring.

9. I'm madly in love with my chiropractor.

10. I don't really have a chiropractor.

Molly Dolly

As much as I've been complaining lately, about various things, I suppose I should really just learn to be grateful for what I have. For example, I have an extremely supportive older sister - and as a result I have an adorable Moloch doll, the first ever Aigaion Girl merchandise*. Rhiannon made him for me as a Happy Book Release present. Notice how he's holding an Apple and even has a little loincloth? So damn cute. He even stands up on his own. I asked her how she did that, when his head is bigger than his boddy. She said she 'just did'.

Also, as part of further release festivities, she dug through the liquor store for ages to find a cider that I would a) enjoy and b) be able to drink (along with my wonderful spontaneous inability to eat/drink dairy, I seem to be developing a sensitivity to sulphites. Hooray.). She bought four cans, so we could toast to my book release and to my first sales.

So there you have it, my sister the genious.

*Even though this Molly is (and will remain) one of a kind, he's the basic prototype for the Moloch dolls that we plan to sell at our table at FanExpo.

In other news, I've been working a lot on 200 Pages today. I think I've come up with a fairly unique story to go in the main story (there's another story inside that one. It's kind of confusing, actually)... I'm really looking forward to getting this one finished and published.

Also, I left work early today because I was sick. It was so weird, it was like I had all of the physical symtoms of drunkeness with none of the fun parts; my arms and legs felt heavy and tingly, my face felt numbish, and I could focus on anything.... I'm telemarketing and I couldn't even stay fully conscious long enough to dial a number... plus my vision was blurring, so I couldn't read my script properly and I'm damned if I could recite it from memory (it's a really easy script). Anyway, it loses me a night of pay (and possibly Friday's stat pay) but what can you do?

Anywhom, it's nearly 11:00, so I should probably eat something. Yay fooid.

Blargh?

I'm really sick, so this may not be entirely coherent. My temperature has been rising steadily all day, which, oddly enough, puts it at the high end of average (I guess I was cold this morning?) and for some reason, that makes it hard to think. Also, I have the worst sore throat of forever, so I called in sick to work. Telemarketing with no voice isn't exactly a walk in the park.

Sometime when I feel less like ass, I'm going to review a couple of things. To Catch A Thief being one, The Bridges of Madison County being another and Safe House being yet another. I also have some Pratchett in there I want to talk about and a book I want to add to my 2009 reading list, but I can't recall the name of either right now.

Today, if I wasn't sick, would be like a dream day of laziness. I slept in until 1:00, watched a movie, called in sick to work, went back to bed until 8:00, sent my brother to the store for treats and then watched another movie. Unfortunately, my head hurts and I feel like I'm going to pass out.

There we go, an update in the life of Athena McCormick, for your reading pleasure... or at least your mild, fleeting interest ;p