Where I sit with Dad

Brought Dad his sandwich and hung out until Steven could get there. He's tired and out of it. Cancer is widespread - lung, brain, spine, liver, adrenal, kidneys-  but they say it's 'contained' for now. Meaning - when the drugs stop working, it will be fast. He will go in a matter of days or weeks. So we continue walking the tight rope between life and death, hope and reality.

Where I make real French bread, y'all

Oy, what a day.

Yoga at noon, then much time spent in the kitchen. Did you know that French bread takes, like, 4 hours to make? I didn't. Until I started making it. Nevertheless, it was done in time for dinner: squash soup (butternut, acorn) with chicken thighs. The bread was unbelievably good. As good as - if not better than- the Farm to Market stuff I get at the store. Very labor intensive, especially compared to the sandwich bread I can crank out. But I think I'll make it now and then. 

So now: exhausted. I walked yesterday, and made bread (again). Right now. it's a combo of cooking/baking, workouts/walks/yoga, housework, and working with Henry on reading. That's it. Tomorrow is a trip to see Dad's radiation Oncologist with Addie in tow, because most of the people I know in real life are tools that won't call me back when they know I need a favor. Suck it, shallow soccer moms!

Where I have a good day

It felt strange, to have no kids for so long. I kept thinking I needed to go get someone, and I kept glancing in the back seat while I drove. I couldn't believe how much I got done at home - and went to an hour and a half long yoga class! It was a wonderful day, the first I've had in a long time. We had a 20 degree drop in temps, and it is blessedly chilly out. I adore fall. As much as I bitch about the extremes here in regards to weather, I love the changing of the seasons. There's always something to look forward to. I still hate you west coast bastards with your '75 degrees and sunny' days. Ha!

Henry is slowly starting to read, after much intense help and coaching from us. He read me a book (Goodnight Moon) tonight for the first time. It made my day, not just that he gets it, but to hear the confidence and pride in his little voice. Thrilling, really! 

Addie is soaking in her too-decadent-for-a-four-year-old-bath, and I'm thinking of a walk after she's in bed. The weather is just too nice to pass it up!

Where it's quiet.

All three kids gone - for the entire day. This will be my Mondays and Wednesdays for the rest of the school year. I don't know what I'll do with myself!

My plan is to have Mon-Wed be yoga days, and Tues-Thurs be KB days. Friday will most likely be a walking day, And weekends will be whatever I can fit in! But I figure, if I just do that those 5 days, consistently, then that's good. I'm excited and relieved to finally have a schedule. 

There's nothing else to report- just enjoying the silence and being by myself....

Where I talk about my hair

I have always had curly hair. Actually, as a kid is was more thick and wavy, but once puberty and hormones hit, it turned into a crazy mess of frizzy, out-of-control Jew hair. I was mocked throughout all of junior high and some of high school because of my hair. I won't go into the names I was called, but coupled with my big-ass eyes (a genetic defect caused by sutures on my skull closing to soon when I was an infant) you can just imagine the fun I had growing up.

My eyes - well, I can't do anything to change them, I have learned to live with them. My hair, on the other hand, with the advent of super-duper straightening irons and miracle salves and balms and such, I've been able to tame my hair into waspy suburban submission. It generally takes me an hour or more to get it stick straight. I've been doing it less and less. Here's what I'm starting to think:

I started straightening my hair in an attempt to fit in and look like everyone else. Straight hair is seen as 'sexy', 'sleek', 'neat', 'polished'. Frizzy, curly, unruly hair is seen as 'too ethnic', 'messy', 'unattractive'. In my attempts to feel good within my skin, this has become an issue with me. So I'm trying to learn to love my hair, as is. I don't look like everyone else ,and I never will. That's not a bad thing. Would I change my looks if I could? No. 

Where it rains

It was in the 80's yesterday. Today it's in the high 50's. Welcome to the midwest.

I walked last night, as the temps were already dropping and it was nice. Felt almost like fall. Today I'd like to go to yoga, and have tomorrow as a swing day, but I'm not sure how the whole kid thing will play out - my Mom offered to take the kids, but you never know with her, she could renege at the last minute, as she is often prone to do.

Today was Addie's first day of preschool, and I had Dad for the 2 and a half hours she was gone. I feel bad complaining about it - I should relish all the time I can with him. But sometimes, I just want to be alone. That so rarely happens. I know that my 'free days' are not so well named - I will most likely have Dad every day, or face the pissyness of my mother. What can I do? The man is sick, bored, and has been abandoned by most of his friend who already have him dead and buried. 

I took him to Andre's, where he used to take me after ballet class when I was a little girl. I'd pick out a pastry and we'd sit in the tea room and chat. It was hard to look at him today, in that familiar setting, as he struggled to get in and out of his chair, and shuffled so slowly back to the car. We talked politics (of course) and how Copeland is arguably the best American composer (they were playing 'Appalachian Spring' in the background). We had pastries and drank tea. We looked outside at the rain. I looked at him hunched over in his chair, smooth head with white fuzz growing in, and I tried to remember him 29 years ago in this same spot, young and sharp and witty. 

We got Addie from school, and I made them both lunch. He's gone home now, and I have a few hours before it's time to get the boys. My house is seriously gross. I am not motivated to clean. I feel flat today, muted. I need to eat, but nothing sounds good. Alright, I'm off.....

Where I feel a little better

Nothing like a balls out unedited rant to make you feel better. Even if I didn't actually say it to the people I'd like to, at least it's not sitting and festering. Thank you to Jenny for calling and talking me down off the ledge (again). I also talked to my Aunt, and that helped a little too. 

I'm hopeful for a good weekend with friends and family. I keep having to remind myself that my family is seriously damaged; this is not how normal parents treat their children. I love them dearly, but they are messes. They should have divorced decades ago. But, they didn't, and I am left trying to deal with what that means- my Mom caring for a terminally ill husband that she almost cannot stand, and vice versa. To say I get stuck in the crossfire is an understatement!

I feel better, body wise. I'm hoping to get back in the workout routine tomorrow. I'm ready.

Where I say what I would love to say in real life

Dear family: you are pissing me off. 

I have no life. I have never had a life. I have been expected to be dutiful daughter, wife and mother. I am expected to swallow all bitterness and never complain. Complaining or depression is weakness. Weakness is bad. I must be strong at all times, able to handle any and all tasks thrown at me. I cannot ever get sick, feel overwhelmed, be sad or lonely. I cannot ever, at any time, let anyone outside our family know how I really feel about any given topic. I am not allowed to contemplate moving away, or having anything going on that might interfere with taking care of all of you. If I do, in fact, complain too much, I am punished by silent treatments and being treated like an overly sensitive crybaby who is incapable of handling anything. Despite all I do for all of you, you continue to treat me like it's never enough. No matter how many errands I run, bills I pay, dinners I make, hours I talk on the phone listening to crying and panic attacks, it's never ever good enough. My slacker brother can breeze in and out as he pleases, and do the smallest thing, and suddenly he is the golden child, the perfect son. He is allowed to be pissy and mean and throw temper tantrums. He is allowed to make colossal mistakes in his life and stay married to a woman who has tried her hardest for the last 10 years to tear this family apart. I, however, am not allowed mistakes. I have to be perfect at all times. I cannot have hopes or dreams of my own. I cannot yearn for anything more than what I have. You had me to take care of all of you, and this is a sad fact that I have realized since I was a young girl. I knew I'd never finish college or move away. I knew that I would never be anything more than what I am. You are all or nothing with me - either I am immersed in day to day dysfunction, or I am ostracized. And since I don't want my kids to grow up without family, I am stuck. I am trapped. And things will never change. Why do you think I tell all 3 of my kids to move away as soon as they're 18? I want them to go to school out of state, get as far away as possible. If I get sick, I don't want them to care for me. This fucked up cycle ends with me. Too late for me, but not for them. They will live their own lives, have fabulous careers. I won't clip their wings. I am not so selfish to keep them close to me for my own gain. That isn't why I had them . I had them to give 3 individuals a chance at lives I can only dream of.

Dear Pseudo friends: Well, it's really only a couple of you I have a bone to pick with. I was a good friend to you over the last year. We talked all the time, we leaned on one another. We formed a real bond. Then, after the whole Room mom debacle of 2008, you disappeared. You did a few half hearted gestures after dad was diagnosed - only what you felt you had to do for appearances sake!- but other than that, you go out of your way to ignore me. And here's what gets me: when I see you, and you are forced to speak to me, you always say, in a syrupy sweet voice 'Oh, I've been such a bad friend, I haven't called you! How are you?!'

And I seriously just want to punch you square in the face when you say that.

What am I supposed to say to that? It's so insultingly transparent and douchy and not sincere. What I want to say to you is this: No, you haven't been a bad friend, because that would take into account that I consider us friends. We're not. We are acquaintances with kids in the same class. Nothing more. Don't insult my intelligence just because you can't nut up and say what's on your mind. I would like to know what I did - but I know I never will. All I know is that I'm incredible hurt by your actions. 

Where I feel the effects of the steroids

Wow, I feel jittery. Now i know why Henry has so much trouble sleeping when he's on his heavy dose of prednisone. And why Dad likes being on steroids while dealing with cancer - because it gives you a serious, scary boost. I know I'm not well, my chest still hurts, and I feel like my head is full of cotton - and yet, I somehow have this insane amount of energy and restlessness. On the one hand, my house is getting clean. On the other hand, I feel like I'm going to jump out of my skin.

I'm slamming down a Power C and getting ready to go to the store. I want to try and nap later, but I don't think I'll be able to. 

And I just want to state, for the record, that it is bullshit that mommies and wives don't get to call in sick. No matter how shitty we feel, we're still expected to get our asses up and moving, no matter what. I'm cranky.

Where I do a grillion loads of laundry, vacuum up hairballs the size of Rhode Island, and put off swinging

On a positive note? I have been slacking on the housekeeping, and I am damn near caught up on laundry, and everyone has clean sheets now. I hadn't cleaned up our room in... awhile. There were freakishly large dustbunnies under all the furniture. So it's all done, clean, beds are made (gasp!) but here it is, close to 4pm, and no swinging yet. I'm doing a monster walk tonight - more out of necessity than straight exercise (it's back to school night, and parking is such a bitch, mom offered to drop me off, then I walk home. It's a hella walk.)- and so I keep going back and forth on the rationalizing. But dammit, KBs and walking are tow totally different activities, who am I fooling? Okay, as soon as I'm done here, no more bullshit.

I've gone off the Zoloft. Pretty much cold turkey. A couple of reasons: 

1. Dad is doing better. Not great, but at least somewhat stable. For the moment.
2. I was starting to feel slightly dulled in the emotional sense. I have heard people on antidepressants talk about this feeling, and I frankly hated it. 
3. When they say under side effects 'decreased sexual desire' - they are not kidding around. For the last 3 months, I couldn't have been less in the mood if I was falling out of a plane. Bryan was getting rather... frustrated.
4. I was starting to feel like it wasn't doing a whole lot of good. Maybe I'll feel I need it down the road, but right now, I want to try to make it without the drugs

So there it is.

* Alrighty, that was yesterday... and I obviously never got around to finishing. Let's see: walk yes, but a fairly short one as I was feeling puny. KBs no, as before, feeling meh. Today? A long ass visit with Mom and Dad to the Oncologist, whom I love, but seeing as she's the #1 Lung Cancer Doc in town, she double and triple books, and we were there for a couple hours. Not a lot of new news, but he seems to be, in a bloodwork stance, tolerating chemo fairly well. He starts the next round tomorrow, which means the next week or so, he'll be down for the count. We took Addie and went to lunch with my brother (who is not as connected with the family, married to a total nutcase, and very self centered. I was not overjoyed to see him.) for Mom and Dad's anniversary. As the long day wore on, I felt crappier and crappier. I've had a cough for a few weeks, but kept chalking it up to allergies. It's gotten worse, and I'm getting that telltale bronchitis tightness in my chest. Son of a bitch. I have a wheezy cough and just feel run down. I went to Urgent Care at 5:30, and after hearing family history (lung cancer, lung cancer and oh, yeah, lung cancer! Three family members including Dad.) said 'let's do an X ray. Like, now!' 

I was glad they did, even though I knew it was too soon for the bronchitis to show up. I know from here on out that I'll be totally paranoid anytime I have an ongoing cough. I didn't realize how much I've been suppressing emotions until the kindly nurse came in and patted my hand and said 'your lungs look great, no spots, no shadows" and I promptly burst into tears. I cried all the way home. I cried for my fear of the future and the unknown. I cried because I'm lonely and frustrated. I cried because my Dad will die someday very soon. I cried because I'm terrified it will happen to me. There is an isolation that goes along with having a dying parent. You have to be strong for them, and so often, people around you don't know what to say or do. You find yourself, in return, building up walls and wearing armor, because you get so tired of being let down and disappointed. People see you as aloof or stand offish, and I want to say 'this is what I have to do to survive each day. I can't let my guard  down, even for a moment. Because if I do, you'll see how fragile I really am.'

The doctor started me on Zpac to head this crap off at the pass. Which is awesome, because I can't afford to be really sick. He also gave me steroids and cough syrup so I can sleep. I'm hoping to feel back to normal by the weekend, then I can refocus on training. It is the only thing that keeps me sane, and when I can't do it, I miss it terribly.

I had a breakthrough moment while walking the other night. I am a typically reserved person, I've talked about my inferiority issues and never feeling good enough. As a kid, the only time I felt good about myself was when I was in ballet class. I took for 10 years, and I was good. It was one of the few things I knew I was good at. When I was dancing, I felt strong and confident and beautiful. I felt superhuman. I haven't had anything that has made me feel that way in years. When I go on a crazy ass long walk, and I am doing free running and parkour- style leaps and jumps and running up a steep hill, I feel so damn strong and good. When I do 500 or 600 kettlebell swings (or 1000, like that one time!), I feel 100% confident in myself. I feel like I know who I am. That's why I love it. It's better than any therapy. And no matter how much the world around me is crumbling, that's something I can control. It's an aspect of my life that I know will only keep getting better, as long as I choose to continue training.

Alright, this entry has gone on way too long and been all over the place.  I'm off to take a shower and wait for the narcotic -based tussin (woot!) to kick in. And hopefully, tomorrow I'll feel better.

Where I watch the DNC and get choked up. Literally.

I grew up in a very political household, so naturally, I have the Convention on. My parents spent their honeymoon (40 years ago this Wednesday!) at the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago. Because there's nothing more romantic than riots going on below your hotel room!

I learned a valuable lesson tonight: do not eat Oreos while watching something that could potentially make you cry. The whole Ted Kennedy tribute got to me - especially when he said he promised to be in Congress in January (he is battling a brain tumor) and Dad and I both started crying... and I inhaled a cookie into my lungs. It was bad, death by cookie! I recovered and watched the rest and cried more. I have Michelle Obama on in the background, no walking or swinging tonight, just the DNC and a bowl of coffee ice cream. Then bed. I was up way too late last night, and a KB workout would be no good when I'm this tired. I have noticed that I'm stronger if I have an extra day between Kb workouts. Every other day seems to leave me a little weak. So, tomorrow. Wednesday and Thursday will be out anyway, with multiple trips to the Cancer Center with Dad. I fluctuate between feeling in control and alright and.... well, not. 

Alright, I'm off to watch more. 

YES WE CAN! 

Where I ponder the idea of calling it "Blergging" instead of "Blogging"

Seriously, y'all. BLERG.

I have a lot to say, and yet nothing to say. I have been walking, and I did swinging today (400 reps) and that is all good stuff. I have been using the Wii Fit, and it is fun and a hoot, as well as playing the Wii Mario Kart with the boys. I saw a hawk eating a squirrel in our neighbor's yard, and me and the kids were fascinated, because we're odd that way. I found two bright green katydids on my car within a 24 hour period and put them in my garden. I took Addie to Libby Liu and watched her have a coronary over all the pink schlock. I painted her nails with sparkles. I have brought my Dad countless milkshakes. I have perfected my voice imitation of Flapjack. I have wasted time and eaten ice cream. I have seen Vega in the night sky. I have thought of a million things to say here, but never do. My life is in limbo, but I'm still here.

Where I follow my own advice

So, people visiting? Not so good for making proper eating choices. That great 130 number I saw on the scale? Yeah, gone in a few days. All it takes is 4 days of not working out and eating crap and voila! I'm up 4 pounds. I'm pretty sure some of that is water - I ate an unbelievable amount of sodium, and I usually keep my sodium pretty low. But in any case, as Tracy has said, and I have repeated, a few pounds is just s few days away, if you really put your mind to it. So it's back to the grindstone, and 390 reps tonight with the 12kg. 

Things are up down around here - the visit with my cousin was utterly exhausting. She's a talker and very high maintenance. The last thing I needed were more people to take care of. It wasn't the most fun, and the day after they left (yesterday) I literally spent in bed. And I have family coming next week, family I love, but it's still work for me nonetheless. 

Dad's cancer appears to be on the move again, and he'll be starting chemo possibly next week. The kids go back to school in 2 weeks, and I feel generally totally overwhelmed. I can't think of a lot to say, so I'm going to repost my most recent blog from Dad's site, because it really expresses where my head is at these days.

Last night, I got a much needed night out with some of the Moms from Henry's school. I actually PLAYED cards, and for those of you who know me well, you know my love of cards runs about as deep as my love of NASCAR, football, and cuddling. Which is to say, not at all. However, I actually caught on and had a lot of fun. I felt totally socially inept, as I have been in seclusion for several months, but as the night wore on, i remembered how to talk to people and not sound like a complete moron. 

I stopped at the liquor store in the Village to pick up wine on the way to Krissie's house, and noticed, out on the sidewalk, about 20 or so ginkgo leaves scattered around. I looked to see if there was a tree nearby, but couldn't find one. Ginkgo trees have often been called living fossils, as they existed some 200 million years ago throughout what is now North America. They died out during the ice age, and were thought to be extinct when in 1691 they were discovered in Japan and southern China, and subsequently brought back to Europe. They are an especially hardy tree, planted around Japanese temples because it was believed they would protect against fire. 

On August 6, 1945, our country dropped a bomb, code named 'Little Boy,' on the city of Hiroshima. The city was decimated, and tens of thousands of people were literally incinerated. And yet, despite the scorched earth and devastation, four ginkgo trees survived. Though burnt and branches toppled, in the weeks and months after the blast, they all began to form buds. As a result, the Japanese call the tree 'The Bearer of Hope.' 

My father's cough is back, and worse than before. He is at the doctor right now, getting an X-ray, but they are pretty sure it's the cancer returning with a vengeance. He will probably have to start chemo sooner than we had thought, and may be unable to take his trip to St. Louis with the IRES group. My Dad is very sick, and most likely dying, but I can't give up hope. I can only think of the trees that they thought were dead, when all along, new life was sleeping inside. There is still life inside my Dad, there is still a fight to be had. I know not all battles fought can be won, but when any of us know it's our time to go, don't you want to die knowing you gave it the good fight? 

Birthday yesterday, cousin Leah and her family visiting.... busy and no time to work out! Or blog.... pictures and update in a few days...

I did a workout... I think Sunday? Forgot to post it, but it was 200 swings and such. Couldn't tell you the exact breakdown. 

Anyway, today was 395. I did 250 swings (sets of single transfers and then sets of 5 swings per arm before transferring- one minute sets) with the 12kg and then 100 swings with the 16kg (alternating sets of single trans and 2 handed swings- 30 second sets). The rest double C&P with the 8kg and snatches with the 8kg. Those double C&P nearly killed me, my shoulders feel shredded. 

I went for a walk the other night, unaware that there was an electrical storm brewing. I was about a mile from home when I noticed the crazy lightening not too far away. I decided to keep going and make it a quick walk, instead of my usual 5 mile trip. As I rounded a corner and thought to myself I had made a bad decision, I saw a car parked in the middle of the street. I realized it was my paranoid Mom, who is a weather freak and came looking for me. She said she had driven by me, but didn't think it was me at first because I looked so skinny - she thought I was a high school girl out walking! My Mom is not one to hand out compliments, but about every other day she tells me how great I look, and how KBs having really transformed my body. This is the first time in a long time that I look in the mirror and don't totally pick myself apart. Too bad the rest of my life sucks.

What other people are seeing as anti-social behavior, or me being pissy and uncooperative, I know it's me being healthy and looking out for me. I can't keep putting myself last on the list of priorities. I have to start saying 'no' to some people, so I can say 'yes' to me.

I felt such overwhelming relief last night. I turned down doing the big Progressive Dinner this fall, I severed a few ties that were unhealthy, and I just felt like a weight was gone. I took a long walk, listened to the new NIN album, and looked at the moon. It was low and hazy, and Vega was visible just above it, a brilliant glistening blue-white. There's something so peaceful walking in the dark, observing the creatures that come out: slugs, opossums, grey foxes, bats, frogs, spiders spinning webs down from street lamps. Down by the creek, I can hear crickets and bullfrogs. There's no one out, just me. I felt so at peace. I thought 'I can't change who I am, any more than I can change who anyone else is.' I feel like the last year has been like playing dress up as a little girl: trying something new on for size, seeing if it worked, if it fit. If these types of people were true and loyal and friends. But it was just a masque, just play acting, just make believe. And the oddest part is: I don't feel sad. I don't feel like I've lost anything. You can't lose something you never had to begin with. So I just sighed and breathed, listen to more music, and looked at the moon.

.Did you think that your feet had been bound 
By what gravity brings to the ground? 
Did you feel you were tricked 
By the future you picked? 
Well, come on down 

All those rules don’t apply 
When you’re high in the sky 
So, come on down 
Come on down 

Where I go to therapy and have a breakdown, and a breakthrough

"I was taught to desire nothing, to swallow other people's misery, and to eat my own bitterness. And even though I taught my daughter the opposite, still she came out the same way. Maybe it is because she was born to me and she was born a girl, and I was born to my mother and I was born a girl, all of us like stairs, one step after another, going up, going down, but always going the same way. No, this cannot be, this not knowing what you're worth, this not begin with you. My mother not know her worth until too late - too late for her, but not for me. Now we will see if not too late for you, hmm?"

I thought of this quote from the Joy Luck Club while I was talking to my shrink today. I had an immense breakthrough in regards to me having no self worth, no self esteem. I never feel that my love, or friendship, or anything is as good as everyone else's. I don't know why. Maybe it's because my mother was the same. No matter how fast I run, how I high I jump, how perfect I try to be, I will fail. I do so much for people who don't deserve it, in hopes of being loved, being admired, being cherished as a friend. I do nothing for me. I don't typically see myself as having any worth at all. At what point do I walk away from the bullshit of my childhood and say 'enough'? Because I think I'm there. I think I'm done feeling like this. 

Where I'm bored as hell

Really, I am so bored I can't stand it. Addie is asleep (at 6:13 at night. Meaning, she'll be up until midnight). I am bored with cleaning, bored with TV, don't feel like weeding the garden, my back hurts, and I'm still in the throws of a hideous period. Whine whine whine. Wine? That actually sounds good. Or maybe a mojito. Okay, now I have a plan.... 

Where I dust off my cast iron babies

My poor neglected kettlebells. They have been so sad and lonely. I think I hear them crying softly at night, and muttering Russian obscenities at me when I pass by carrying laundry. 

Okay, well not really, but I have incredibly guilty over not exercising. Mainly because I know it will improve my mood and mental state. And yet, I still have done nothing. Swimming yesterday felt so good, and I came home feeling so relaxed, I decided I have to make at least a little time for me. I only did 320 swings, which is not a lot for me, but I stuck with mostly the 12kg, and did a fair number of snatches - 10 with the 12kg! Most volume I've been able to do with snatches in that weight! So I may feel weaker, but I think it's just a mental perception, rather than a reality. I probably could've done more, but I plan on swimming later this afternoon, so I figure I don't want to overdo it. 

I'm supposed to make pies for a few friends, and I feel guilty that I haven't done it yet. Do you see my pattern of guilt at not being perfect? I feel it constantly. I'm trying to take tasks as I can, but I feel daily like I fall short. And being blown off by random 'friends' certainly does not improve my issues of self esteem and worthfulness.  So where does that leave me? I don't know. Mostly sad and lost, but putting up a good front for the unwashed masses. Being the best Mom, Daughter, and Wife I can be. Carving out the miniscule time for me. Trying not to think about the future with my Dad. And that's about it.

Where I nut up and soldier on

I saw a couple of Moms from Henry's school at the pool yesterday. One of them I hadn't seen since school ended. The other I've only seen a few times. These are people I have reached out to. I brought one a pie last week. But they pointedly ignored me and moved to the other side of the pool. I suppose those needier than me would have lap-dogged it over and kissed ass: "love me! Be my friend! Validate my existence!" But that sort of behavior really chaps my ass, and I refuse. If you can't even muster up a 'How's your Dad' because it makes you so uncomfortable to talk about someone who is dying and tragedy touching your perfect little world, than FUCK YOU BOTH.

I came home and took a shower and cried. Today, I am trying to shake off the shitty feeling of worthlessness that's clinging to me. I don't know why I let people get to me like this. I normally don't care quite this much. I think I just thought that what I'm going through would bring out the best in those I know. But the reality is, it brings out the worst. It shows everyone's true colors, glaring weaknesses and an astounding lack of moral compass. So onward I go, trying not to whine, trying not to care that I feel so alone. There are good people and friends in my life, I don't know why I have to let a few selfish tools weigh so heavily on me.

Dad was doing really well for a few days - he was back on high dose steroids, and he was like a different person. But he's been tapered off, and feels shitty again. It's heartbreaking to witness - because he knows he's not as sharp. He knows his energy level is down. It's been rough.

On the fitness front: I no longer care what I eat. Because for every bowl of ice cream I eat, there's a day where I eat nothing. I have a couple dresses that were tight on me last summer, that are falling off me now. I haven't done any swinging in what seems like forever. Or walking. I just don't eat and don't care and watch the scale slowly creep down. Whoopity do. Does it matter? No, my Dad is still dying.