Unclog the brain

Stumptown Coffee Roasters - Division, by Scott Beale/Laughing Squid on Flickr, licensed under Creative Commons

The past couple days, I’ve gotten a lot further in making my pipe dreams of being published in a more “real” (e.g. visible, remunerated) way a reality. I find it weird that it’s happening when I’m in the limbo state right before a scan (MRI of my brain on Monday morning!).

I’m never allowed to just be in limbo. Being in limbo the way I conceive of it is sort of like being in traction, something I am so glad has never happened to me. (It’s true! Even cancer patients can finger point at other things they are so grateful not to be going through. Not that pointing is ever polite. So pretend I’m saying it behind my hand to you in a whisper and jerking my head in the direction of someone in full-body traction. An implausible scenario, I know.)

So to recap: Not in traction. Yes in limbo, but the kind where I am feverishly getting writing done, writing I might actually be paid for (I’ll keep reminding myself to forget about that until I get a green light). And not even on a huge dose of steroids – just 2mg in the morning – so I’m starting to think this energy may be real, trustworthy, not a fleeting thing.

I also am hastening to remind myself there have been times in my history where I have written a lot, even if the audience was by definition limited. I wrote up a wedding recap for an online community I was on which practically took place in real time.

And because this Sunday is Young J’s 9th birthday, I have just pulled up his birth story (also lengthy, and also possibly takes real time to read, but that’s because my labor with Young J was super short). I can’t share it here – too gritty, too many acronyms to spell out, and in great need of editing! But it is comforting to see that while I currently have no clips to send potential editors, I do have a well-documented history of writing to process, writing to cope, writing to make sense, writing to not forget. I can read Young J’s or Young A’s birth stories – or my wedding story – and find myself right back in the scene. And sometimes that is comforting. And sometimes it is cringe-worthy and I’m happier where I am today.

I’m still new enough to the cancer universe to think I won’t forget anything that has happened, that I have been living such an intense experience it could never become blurry. I hope I get to stick around long enough to start forgetting what certain things feel like. So I guess all of this writing is in preparation, in the hope of, the eventual forgetting.

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