Rage Against the Dying of the Light

My dad has cancer.  Yesterday I spent 13 hours finding out my dad has cancer, waiting while he had a biopsy tumor extraction, and recovered from surgery.  Trying to process everything yesterday while trying to be strong, have courage, be brave, be a duck.  Water off a duck’s back, floating on the tumultuous surface, I don’t know. Trying to deal with it. Waiting. Waiting. Praying. Hoping. Coping.

 

Of all the things I’ve ever worried about in my entire life… my dad getting cancer did not make the list.  I am caught flat footed.  It takes the wind from my sails.  I am wholly unprepared for this.

 

I don’t know what to do, what to think. My poetry brain has kicked in to try and cope.  No drinking, smoking, self harm, nonsense or shenanigans.  Healthy coping mechanisms.  Read. Write. Create poetry.  Meditate.  Count.  Breathe. Breathe.  Breathe.  Remind myself to breathe again. Keep breathing.  Make lists. Shove the feelings down deep.  No, try to feel.  Nope, too hard to feel.  Ok shove those feelings away.

Hands shaking, anxiety weighted in my chest.

 

Realize: He found out last Friday.  Told my mom Saturday night.  Mom told Husband Monday night.  I found out Tuesday morning.  Why am I the last person to find out?  Bad enough it’s happened.  Now the lies.  Betrayal.  As if dealing with the cancer was not bad enough now I deal with deceit as well.  What do  I do now?  How do I start to deal with all this?  How do I cope? What do I do now?

 

Will I ever escape the rage I feel inside?

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Tell That Funny Story About Your Life

Someday, I will look back on all this and be amused.  That day is not today.  Now, living it all, I find myself raging at the circumstances beyond my control.  I find myself feeling trapped and without viable options.  I find myself scared and sick and full of rage.

“Faerie, tell that funny story about your life!” Says AG at dinner.  We are at three tables crowded together in the center of Applebee’s on a Saturday evening after work.  There are twelve of us coworkers there.

“Oh, you mean about how I pay to live with a 62 year old grandma?  Or how about how I sleep in a garage?”

“You sleep in the garage?!” exclaims DS.

“Yes, I pay to sleep in the garage.” I calmly reply.  My right eye begins to twitch.

“Oh my god!  That is not humane!  This is BigCity!  What are you going to do in the summer?” Asks DS.

“Shit, what are you going to do in two weeks when it starts getting hot?” KM retorts.

“Well I already bought a heater.  Yes, a heater, in BigCity.  It gets better though.  Want to know the best part?  She has a goat.”

“A What?” Someone questions.

“Did you say goat?”

“Yes and the best part.  I pay to live with a 62 year old grandma, I sleep in the garage, I live with a goat, and the goat gets the bigger garage.” I say.

“No shit?” Everyone is laughing.

“Oh no, it shits a lot.  Roommate and I had to have a talk about how her goat shits a lot and even though I do, in fact, sweep goat shit every night when I feed the animals, the goat still shits all night and the next ten hours of the day while I’m at work.  She may not think I sweep it up but I do.”  The whole table is laughing while I respond to their incredulous questions.  Their laughter punctuates the “funny story about my life.”

“Oh my god.   And you pay for this? How much do you pay?”

“You should move out!”

“We need to work on an exit strategy for you.”

“I find myself still asking if its worth it.  Is there still value in living there?  Despite the shenanigans and craziness it is quite cheap and I don’t know if I can afford to live anywhere else.”  I am raging about my life to twelve people I work with and they are all laughing hysterically.  I didn’t expect my rage to be amusing but I’m glad my situation is good for something other than rage.  I’ve known that sometimes people find me funny, but I didn’t expect my sincere feelings about the state of my life to bring so much mirth to others.  I guess that when you look at how other people are living it is easier to look at your own life and say, well at least I don’t live in a garage.  At least I don’t live with a goat.  At least the goat doesn’t live in the bigger garage.  “Someday,” I say confidently to the crowd, “this will make a very funny story.”

“That day is today.  Faerie, that day is today” laughs KM.  The rest of the table laughs along and I cannot help but to laugh along with them because it could always be worse.  I could have to share the garage with the goat…