The Obligatory Year-In-Review and New Years Resolution Post

2014.  This was not my favourite year.

I dealt with a lot of stress, mental health issues, physical health issues, house stuff, money stuff, relationship stuff.

The high point of my year?  NOT having Cancer.  Which is a really, really awesome thing, but a pretty low bar to measure a whole year by.  Also, this last month the last remaining portion of my colon decided to get its shit together, figuratively speaking, and push my colitis back into a state somewhat resembling remission.  At any rate, the daily ass-bleeding has stopped for the most part.

Not having Cancer was Ay-Oh-Kay in my books, as was the reprieve from daily ass-bleeding, but quite frankly, the rest of the year just felt like a god-damn struggle.

I know it's not been all bad.  The change in mood between this post and this post from a few weeks ago can probably tell you how all-over-the-place I have been. I've been making efforts to maintain some level of positivity.  Some days are 'be thankful and count your blessings' days.  Some days are not.

On a side note: I had a pretty decent Christmas. Got to actually see my family and eat turkey.  And then every single member of my household got sick as shit for the next four days (not from the turkey, from the flu).  So while Christmas was much better than last year, the universe did it's damndest to make sure Boxing Day blew chunks (metaphorically).

So basically, 2014 can fuck right off for not being the vast improvement over 2013 it was supposed to be.  You're fucking fired, 2014.

So, now that we've got all that bother out of the way, some plans and resolutions for 2015:

1. Be more active, whilst remaining actively body-positive.  This will include: 
• Continuing to swim at the Y three mornings a week
• Returning to kick-boxing once a week
• Using my lunch-breaks to walk each day, or taking evening walks after dinner
• Refraining from negative self-talk and avoiding the "D-word".  Riots, not diets, folks.
• Eat more system-friendly foods that will keep my fucked-up digestive happy
• Drink water. Lots of water. Because dehydration is a bitch, yo.
2. Finish working on The Table Formerly Known as the Penis Table
3. Blog more, both here and on The Art Blog. I also have a plan for a third blog that has been in the works for a while.
4. Paint. Draw. Craft.
• Submit work to art shows. Try not to get frustrated if not accepted. Keep trying.
5. Write.
•  Look for opportunities to write outside of blogging.
6. Make music
• Find a conveniently-scheduled and receptive open mic to attend.  Attend with some regularity
7. Audition for plays
8. Continue to practice good self-care, for the benefit of both my physical and mental health:
• Take my blood-thinners and butt-meds regularly
• Get my blood work done regularly, as required
• Continue seeing my counsellor for as long as work will cover it/I can afford it
• Bitch-slap the jerkbrain when she starts getting too loud.
9. Make friends, and make time for friends.
10. Make time to keep being a good mom, girlfriend and person, overall.
11. Make time for me.
12. Breathe.

So that's all from this end for this year.  Here's to new beginnings.

I look slightly deranged. I kind of like it. Cheers, y'all.

Wherein I extend on an already rambling Facebook status

So, I've been running the art blog for about a week now, and it's created this weird paradox of motivation wherein the blogging motivates me to paint more, while the painting has motivated me to blog more.. Not only on the new blog, but on this blog as well.

I've been reviewing a lot of my old work, and revising some of it, taking the time to really put care into details and not rush to finish a picture all in one night.  There are a lot of pieces I feel like I could have done better had I taken more time.  Others are just kind of horrendous to me now, and I'm not sure whether I want to try and fix them or hide them away forever, never to be seen again.

I'm finding myself with the urge to REVISE ALL THE THINGS and go back and touch up old paintings.  That's not cheating is it? I mean, if writers can go back and edit old manuscripts, I can go back and use what I've learned (mostly slow the eff down) to fix and improve what I've already created.. That's not a bad thing.. Right?

The current work in progress is one I did some time ago.  I reached a point where although I knew it wasn't "done," I had hit a point where I really liked what I had done so far, and was nervous to go any farther lest I manage to fuck up what had been, at the time, a very challenging piece for me.

I've pulled it back out and after much hemming and hawing about whether I really wanted to mess with it, I've gone back in.

It is so worth it.  I am really, excruciatingly excited.

Michael Jordan, I ain't.

Today, the basketball house league that my youngest daughter plays in had their end-of-season parents vs. kids game, and because I am a sport (and a bit of a masochist, it seems) I took the opportunity to face on a group of 10-12 year olds with more athletic ability in their pinkie fingers than I have in my, well, everything.

I played for three periods, then had to quit, because having your mother quit halfway through a bonding experience HAS to be less traumatic than watching your mother drop dead of a coronary in the middle of a gymnasium.  I also developed one hell of a cramp in my right leg, as my calf decided it was going on strike for the rest of the day.

But overall it was a fun experience and I learned a few things:

- I am not as bad at basketball as I imagined myself to be. Oh, I'm not even close to being good, but I did manage one basket (was I stoked? Mister, you better believe I was STOKED) and not once did I find myself curled up in the fetal position or running with my arms covering my head.

I used to have what is referred to elementary school phys. Ed. circles as an intense "FEAR OF THE BALL".  I credit three years of kick-boxing for helping me get over that.  Once you've taken a round-house kick to the face, a mere basketball is a nuzzle from a kitten.

- my kid is fast.  Like, I knew theoretically that she was fast, but after being tasked with actually having to keep up with her, she is FAST.  Holy crap.

- I am old, fat and out of shape.  The old part, I am totally cool with. The fat part, well, I'm still unlearning a lot of toxic shit, but am gradually becoming at peace with my shape and size.  The out of shape part is not effing cool.  Not cool at all.

So I'm going to get on a new workout plan. I've been swimming lanes three times a week, but I think I'm going to hit some Boxing Day sales and find myself an MP3 player and dedicate myself to walking again, as well as joining kickboxing again, once a week at first.  Hopefully if my schedule can handle it I can move up to twice.

My goal is to get back to a similar fitness level as I was before the whole Cancer thing.  Wish me luck.

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In other news, the original title to this post was going to be "Michael Jordan, I ain't (Hal Jordan, maybe)" as I was thinking Hal Jordan played the old guy on Evening Shade, but turns out that's Hal Holbrook, I think, and Hal Jordan is the secret alias of the Green Lantern.  So, I figured that comparing myself to a superhero rather than a professional athlete wasn't so much self-deprecating (which is what I was going for) as just kind of arrogant, and that I needed another option.

I considered changing it to Tracy Jordan, but worried that may have been appropriation, and in light of recent events, pretty fucking insensitive.

So I toddled off to the Goògle to search "Famous people with the last name Jordan" and you know what? There are way too many porn stars with that name, which is something I never needed or wanted to know, but now I do and you do too.

You're welcome.

The difference a year makes...

2013 ended on a shitty note.

My two favourite holidays were both a pretty huge bust.

On Halloween I was sick as a dog.  Regular sick, on top of being scary-Cancer-sick. My National Lampoons Christmas Vacation's cousin Eddie costume was kind of crap.  No Zombie Walk.  Didn't decorate.  Cancelled my Halloween party because I couldn't deal with the stress of hosting while dealing with impeding surgery.  I missed out on trick-or-treating with the kids and had to get up at 3 am so I could drive to Toronto and have a rather important organ removed.

So, that sucked.

Christmas I was still in recovery mode, although I was back to work part-time. My tree had but two piddling LED lights.  On Christmas Day my car battery died, which didn't matter much since my ENTIRE FAMILY got sick with a stomach bug and I couldn't be around them for fear of catching it and potentially blowing out my newly re-attached colon.  We ended up having pizza since there was nothing in the house to eat.  I cried a lot that day.  I don't think we did our family Christmas until almost, if not after, New Years.

This Halloween I decorated the shit out of my house. There was blood and skulls and fake corpses galore. I positively revelled in decorating and gathering materials for my Radar O Reilly costume as I recalled my bitterness the year before.

Today is December 17th. I just finished putting up my tree, with the help of the girls and my friend's children.  It's got a full contingent of lights, and even a few gifts under there.  My shopping is about 75% done, and I've yet to panic about the money, unlike years past.

Last year, I gathered all my energy to attend my staff Christmas party for at least an hour. This year, I was able to dance well into the night.  

I feel relaxed, yet incredibly appreciative, of everything I have right now. 

We've come a long way.

In other news, I've started a new blog for my artwork at actuallyacollection.blogspot.ca

Please feel free to check it out and give it a follow.

Conversations with my kid - radio time

Listening to a previously unheard Sam Roberts song:

Me: (With a dawning realization) ohhhhh! He's saying "your own worst enemy." It sounds like "Your old world centipede."

R: what? Really?  *rolls eye*

*moments pass*

R: *snickers*

Me: you can hear it, can't you?

R: yup.

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Listening to "Hello Time Bomb"

R: when he says "so bad" he sounds like a goat.  Baaaaad.

Me: it's the Matthew Goat Band

I do dumb things.

While at work today, I answered a phone call and hit myself in the face with the receiver.  The caller on the other end heard me say 'ow' as I attempted, and failed spectacularly, to maintain some air of professionalism.

On my third or fourth day of seventh grade, I was leaning forward in my chair, when it slipped out from under me.  I grabbed the desk for support.

You all know how sturdy school desks are, right?  Not very. Needless to say, I made a great first impression as 'the new kid'.

Sadly, I hadn't learned my lesson from when I was six and I nearly concussed myself after leaning too far back in my chair, becoming well acquainted with a wooden work bench.  This was back when first graders were allowed to use saws and hammers during playtime. Oh, the 80s.

At the age of 14 I smoked.  I laboured under the assumption that my parents didn't know.  They probably did.  One balmy summer's eve, I stood out on my back porch enjoying a cigarette when I spotted my dad coming down the hill to our house on the way home from the Legion.  Like the ninja I am, I tossed the butt and raced straight into the house.

And by 'house' I mean 'the screen door.'

Once at the Y, because I am a living cartoon and I have no sense of time+distance, I nearly set my shirt on fire before catapaulting myself across a room, all because I thought that 6 kilometers an hour on a treadmill seemed a reasonable speed for a beginner.

I fell under a bus once.

Just the other week, I provided my children with an excellent cautionary tale called "Why it's a bad idea to jimmy a glued-shut jar of Mod-Podge open with a paring knife," starring Mom's Mangled Index Finger.

Lastly, a headboard is no place for an antique clock.  That's all I'll say on that topic.

Conversations with my kids: Super powers

R: if you could have any super power you wanted, what would you choose?

Me: MUTANT HEALING FACTOR. ALWAYS.

T: Laser vision.

R: I'd want to have stretch powers, so I could be lazy all the time.

Me: you'd never leave the couch?

R: right. I could just reach for stuff. I could even do my schoolwork from the couch.

T: I want laser vision.  To zap the genitals of my enemies.

Quick Update: I'm Guest-Blogging

I have a guest post up at Feministe on the whole Jian Ghomeshi... thing.

Go read it.

A year and one week.

I guess this post has been a while coming, but quite honestly, I've been having a bloody shit-show (ahaha, see what I did there?) of a week or two.

I don't have cancer.  Hooray!

I got the colonoscopy results a week ago and I was grateful but oddly underwhelmed.  There's a couple of reasons behind this:  One, because I never did radiation or chemo or anything, I still don't really feel like a real Cancer Survivor™.  There's still this weird unreality about the whole ordeal. 

I had cancer.  I had surgery.  I didn't have cancer anymore.

Done.

Meanwhile, I found it hard to get too excited because of the uncertainty in knowing that there is always a chance of it coming back.  So I got the news and it was like "You don't have cancer," and I thought inwardly "... well, for now."

I guess I'm being overly pragmatic about the whole thing?  I feel like I *should* be super-excited and jumping for joy when in reality I'm more like "Oh.. okay.  Cool.  Want to get a pizza?"

Does that make me ungrateful?  Maybe. 

Today I drove down to Mount Sinai to meet with my surgeon about my progress. Traffic and other complications, including almost hitting a pedestrian outside the hospital, resulted in being about 25 minutes late. Thankfully, the people at the hospital know I'm coming a rather stupid distance and are understanding.

The Well-Travelled One and I waited in the world's tiniest exam room until a nervous resident came to go over my medical history.  I've gotten to the point where I can pretty much recite my entire medical history on command.  Often to strangers in grocery stores.

I was subjected to an examination of both my abdomen (not terribly invasive) and rectum (much more invasive), rolling over while trying not to fall off the exam table.

I laughed long and loud after the mildly uncomfortable rectal exam, as the resident explained that each of the hospital's residents have to take turns with each area of specialty and that he'd come to the conclusion that he was not cut out for colorectal work due to being cursed with huge fingers.

This was probably the funniest thing I heard all day.  I'm glad he didn't tell me before the exam, though.

We met with my surgeon afterwards, who was pleased with my condition.  I'm to go back in six months for a scope and possibly a CT scan.  I originally thought that I would not have to go back for a year, but truth be told, I'd rather have a six month check-up, so if anything new develops, there's a good chance of catching it early again.

I felt a little more relief at this news, but I still am not all super-duper excited. 

I'm glad. I'm grateful. But I'm not excited. 

Do you ever get to let your guard down after something like this?

Excerpts from my notebook - The ER

Came into the emergency department around 11am.  It's now going on 3:30. I have been poked full of holes by nurses trying fruitlessly to secure an IV. I need fluids.

One attempt, on my right wrist, felt as thought [sic] a red hot wire was inserted into a nerve.  My hand felt tingly and numb for several minutes after.  I screamed out in pain.  I may have said Fuck.  I'm sure I said Christ.

There is zero cellphone reception here.  I stood outside for 10 minutes trying to update {The Well-Travelled One} on what has so far taken place.

My stomach is growling.  A cinnamon bun sits on the table beside me.  I bought it in the lobby minutes before I was told not to eat or drink anything.

My mouth is dry.  I need fluids. I finished my book and now I am bored as hell.

{The Well-Travelled One} got me this notebook for my birthday.  I have been saving it, not wanting to mess it up with grocery lists and price comparisons for ceramic tile like I had done with my cheap Dollar Store red book.

A nurse just came in and hooked me up to an ECG, so now to go with my lovely set of holes and bruises from multiple IV attempts, I also get to wear the badges of medical grade adhesive.

So, I'm basically just writing to pass time until my blood work comes back and they decide what else to do with me.

I'm here because I've had a headache for the last four days, a strange feverish feeling, and the ass-bleeding has ramped up in frequency and volume over the last week.  My doctor's office takes at least three weeks to get an appointment and in three weeks, I could be dead.

I hate this body that keeps failing me at every turn.  Colitis at 18. Colon cancer at 33.  Legs that want to clot up and pool blood at every turn.

Any time conversation turns to "What kind of superpower would you want?" my answer is invariably,

"MUTANT HEALING FACTOR"

Every time.

I really have terrible handwriting.  It's gotten worse as I get older and I type more and the most writing I do is signing my name on my kids' agenda.  This is barely legible, especially since the hospital bed doesn't give a great surface to write on.  I seem to think faster than I write so there are numerous mistakes.

Going to try to sleep for a bit.