Too busy to write, too busy to update this blog, too busy to do laundry (yay! I think?!) and too busy for naps. I'm tired here and my body telling me to rest in the form of a splitting headache and sore hips. I need to listen.
We really had a busy weekend with softball, yard work, catching up Stef with missed assignments and a party on Sunday. All last week was a disaster with repeated doctor visits for Steffie and her out of school. All of this adds up to a frustrated writer who made no money over the weekend. I usually rely on Bill to direct the symphony when I need to catch up. Except the symphony was all over the place.
It's pouring rain here, like Guatemala pouring. You'd think that would allow for some quiet time around here but Jackie was bouncing off the walls today. Good thing she's going to school tomorrow or she'd be duct taped to wall. Not really but that sure is a funny visual :)
I wrote some more of my book last night. It really did surprise me how upset I got filling in the details from my surgery last year. Reliving that time was quite painful and boy did I forget alot. Bill's playing with a full deck so he helped me. He also wants me to consider putting the book together in an order other than chronological. I need to think on that. I've read so many books and many do seem like memoirs. I want mine to be more. "The practical chick's guide to having breast cancer and kicking it's ass while still remaining moderately sane and functional" Too long, huh?
I'm sure "Cancer is my bitch" is taken. Wait a minute, I'm checking that. Forget it. Some guy has a website and makes shirts. Guess that title is out of the question too. The least of my worries is the book title but you know, sometimes one needs to dream. I can adamantly state that the cover of my book will not be pink or I will kick the publisher very hard in the shins AND butt. I don't do pink - I NEVER have done pink.
I read Deanna Favre's book. It was well written although I got the ghost writer sense. It bugged me. I never felt like I got into her head and that began with never knowing what type, staging, etc., of cancer. It felt aloof. She did have a great story, especially being Brent Favre's wife while she was undergoing treatment and still participating in everything required of her like a trooper.
But hell, is breast cancer the same for the rich and famous as it us for the plain old folk like me? I don't think so. That's a pretty prejudiced statement but I know the financial worry, despite my good insurance, has added some gray hairs to my bald head. I'm being a bitch again but so what. If anyone wants to set me straight, go right ahead. This is an extremely underdeveloped thought up there. I'm open to debate.
I don't want my book to be filled with cliches. I want it to be funny and unique. I'm not Lance Armstrong so I don't feel I need to give everyone a pep talk. I want to convey a story and show how we bungled our way through it. Practical advice, tips, and help as well as deeply personal insight. How's that for a barrel of worms?
I read through what I wrote last fall after my first chemo treatment. My computer went in for service for three stinking months and I didn't have the book saved to USB so it went unattended for awhile. I don't really know if I cried reading it because it's about me or because it's moving and emotional. Whatever. I'm wandering aimlessly with these thoughts here :)
I think my brain needs a break. Ciao, arrivaderci, adios, tata for now!!