It’s so light today. I’m sitting outside at a bright blue and yellow car wash with bright blue and yellow signs advertising waxes and detailing and hand washing. My car will soon be unburdened of the 15 bird poops unfortunately sitting unfashionably on its hood. The 80 degrees are soaking into my black dress and leggings and everything is moving slowly, so relaxed. It smells like wax and soap and sun.
There is so much light in my life lately. I am living like an adult again, without my parents, without my sisters. I am going out at night with friends and listening to music and playing games. I am going out during the day; places to go and people to see. I am spending time with my boyfriend everyday. I smile.
I am cooking, sometimes. I am eating a lot of things I didn’t feel like eating for a long time. I am weirdly obsessed with the combination of lox and tomatoes and cucumbers and cream cheese. I am rarely nauseated (miracle of miracles) and i’m slowly gaining strength. I am getting paid (a little) to write (a little). I am sorry I have not been writing here. I am no longer awkwardly a grad student who graduated last year but still isn’t working. I am a writer. (Someone at the car wash just asked me if I was one. I said “I guess so. Yes.” I am so LA.) I love it.
It’s a new year. My life finally feels like it’s moving on. My year of pain, 2013, is over.
It has taken me a few weeks to get used to the idea. Still, my pain didn’t end at midnight on January 1, 2014. It is so overwhelming sometimes I can’t control my tears, my spiraling mind, my racing heart. The hatred for the situation I find myself in today, 3 years and 93 days since I was diagnosed with fucking cancer. The frustration with my body for continuing to make and allow 400 plus or minus extra milliliters of fluid to collect in my right lung cavity everyday — and with the surgeon and the doctor for not fixing it with that surgery (that I didn’t want) like they said they would. The betrayal of my body for still feeling not-quite-well, for allowing the cancer to perpetuate. The upheaval with the pharmacy and the doctors offices and insurance companies when my out-of-pocket maximum reset at the beginning of the year. The drainage bottles, the enzymes, the insulin, the every medication that I use every single day cost an absolutely ludicrous amount of money. And I went and got cancer, and two or three other chronic conditions with it, so I have to pay for the rest of my life. (Unless Obamacare and future healthcare legislation has a fairer effect on the industry. Unless I move to Germany.)
It is scary and mystifying and awful that my life, filled with so much light today, sitting at the car wash, and most days now, can be filled with so much darkness. But the startling reality is that is life, isn’t it? So much darkness and so much light.