I used to look at my life as having two periods: BC, before cancer, and AC, after cancer. Now, though, I see those two halves differently. There were 34 years when I did not know cancer, and now, and for the rest of my life, I do know cancer.
On Sunday morning, I dutifully planted myself on a church pew, cursed the itch of new nylon stockings, and entertained myself with the silent addition of the phrase “under the covers at night” to the ends of hymn titles.
When the one you love is engaged to someone else, do you let go and go on with your life…or do you follow your heart even when it seems illogical?
I am okay with some wrinkles. I am fine with the shifting shape of my butt. Even my worsening arm wattle isn’t that alarming … but accepting crazy cat lady-ness? Uh-uh.
This knee-jerk shame about writing, an activity I hid like masturbation, kept me away from practicing the thing I loved for many years. It was too intimate. When I wrote, it felt like I was touching everything all at once, rolling in mud, needlessly gorging myself.