I think I like not knowing.
Outside of spinning my wheels over waiting, the prospect of knowing means too many bad things. Or, maybe it'll be all good things. Like emerging into the world a new person. One not tethered by a past—baggage that weighs you down no matter how much you leave behind.
Not knowing opens you up to various opportunities.
I remember my mom, burdened with the diagnosis of inoperable lung cancer. Burdened with the chemotherapy and radiation and IRESSA®, the "chemo pill".
She lived for three and a half years—three years longer than she was told she had.
There were plenty of beautiful moments in those three and a half years, but even as her daughter who didn't leave her side (except for school), it wasn't worth knowing.
Her death was not a good death. Her death wasn't made better by knowing.
It was agonizing—to go through and to watch, to love the person suffering and be loved by the people watching you suffer.
I don't have cancer and I don't want to. I'm not saying I wouldn't take treatment if one day I did, but I also saw what happened after she died—the bills, the mourning, the promises; promises that never should've been requested.
Promises that never should have been kept.
"She was never good with money," he'd said.
So why did you do say you'd do it, even though you knew it was a bad idea? She wasn't going to be here. You have to deal with the aftermath, not her.
"Could I tell a dying woman no?"
"You could lie. Sometimes it's for the right reasons."
But I guess that sets me apart from others. My first class ticket to Hell.
I could look a dying woman in the eye and tell her I'd continue making art and singing and do great things with my life—the life she gave me.
I did tell her I would, but then I got busy.
It took twelve years but here I am, writing—writing words I'm not sure have any purpose other than clearing my mind and helping me to focus on myself, my health, and not just on everyone else like I've always seemed to do.
In the past I've felt selfish, but I see things different now. I'm getting back to basics and doing more of the things I want to do for me. In turn, I hope my family sees the good and not just that Mommy only does what she wants all the time.
I'm tired of doing things for everyone else.
It's my time now, even if it's only for a little while. It's mine.
He didn't sign up for this, but he's still here.
A Pill For A Pill Leaves The Whole World Drugged
I've got nothing of value today. Only anger.
What could it be?
I didn’t prepare for it.
I think I like not knowing.
What do I want to do with this?
Hmm… Good question.
It had just started to rain and the dog was whining at the back sliding glass door.
I don't want to get my hopes too high, but it's something to look forward to.
"What do you want it to be?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you act like I haven't done anything over the last three years. Three years..."
So much stuff. What's the goddamned point?
Time seems to slip away faster now.
If only I could take them with me.
'How's your business going?'
'Fine.' I hate it.
If only he knew her, then he'd understand.
'I wouldn't do it again, if that's what you mean,' I said, pulling my MacBook Pro closer to me atop the long work table in the mall.
What was she thinking?
My fingers are crossed, but I'm not sure if that's enough anymore.
They always end up letting you down.
It always happens in droves.
She caught me with the knife when I was sixteen, maybe seventeen.
I like being flawed. It gives me something to write about.
I let my kids examine my naked body yesterday.
There's no winning with blame.
Every time I think I'm getting better at this whole life thing, I do something wrong and set it back.
It was cold that day. Odd for Florida.
I gave twenty dollars to a woman on the side of the road today.
I like getting older.
There's something about with age and experience comes wisdom that's exhilarating.
The bad thing about family is you can never escape the past.
They remember everything.
I'll see this one through, I tell myself. I'll finish it.
After this, I'll put it to bed. After this, I'll move forward.