Wait, This is the Wrong Script!
But today I’ve developed a weird rash on my jaw. It’s like hives. It itches. It’s annoying. Today I am the dippy girl who is oblivious to the creeping horror until her flesh has turned green or erupted in scales or boils, who clutches her face and shrieks, “Oh my God! What’s happening to me! Help me!” Then she turns into a puddle of goo or a pod or gets eaten while the protagonists of the horror movie watch, well, in horror.
Instead of turning into a puddle of goo, I’ll just take a benadryl, but still, you get what I mean.
This is especially annoying because in some portion of headspace, I keep forgetting that I have three more weeks of treatment. I’ve moved on. I’m planning my summer. (Two writing workshops, running a six week playwriting workshop with a playwright, going to Wiscon, maybe even working on a novel or something.) The summer is the after lymphoma time. It is not the still-have-weird-chemicals-in-my-system time. Bob and I are planning a summer of healthy foods and salads. I’ve been cooking this week. Today I met a guy (the playwright in fact) who is interviewing me for a local magazine about Mothers & Other Monsters. We talked about the book, the workshop, his play coming up, his last play, about art, and theater, and the pope. It was great.
It was not the script for the dippy girl. It was the script for after-this-is-over woman. I really protest being dragged back into weird health drama. Particularly since two benadryl work on my like a Mickey Finn.