IN WHICH THE SPINSTER HAS A NO-GOOD MAD-COW VERY-BAD WIG-FLIPPING KIND OF DAY

Remember when Kathleen Kelly flips her Pixie cut at the Cafe' LaLa and goes into a rant at Joe Fox and all of the crazy comes spilling out and she tells him exactly what she wanted to say at that very moment she wanted to say it and then she feels really bad about it?

Well, cue the Spinster.

The difference is that my very own rant this morning did not include a twin set or a Pixie cut or a crimson rose and a cup of coffee sitting in front of me on a whimsical little cafe table My wig flipped right off in the middle of the living room while wearing eighteen year old Costco pajamas and involved more f-bombs and fist shaking than I care to admit while Fox News blared away in the background.

(Note to self...a good title for this chapter of my memoir is "How Fox News and the 2024 Presidential election cycle tried to kill me").

(I will NOT engage in political, religious, or sexual debates, conversations, or comment wars on this here blog, Dearies, because political, religious, and sexual debates, conversations, and comments live in ABUNDANCE here on the internets, and I'm looking for a big fat deep quiet hole to crawl into and this is the best that I could come up with.)

I don't feel good.

And when I don't feel good I become something akin to a rabid opossum protecting her nest of ugly little ropy-tailed babies that just want to scuttle about your back garden and eat bugs and errant trash.

After two visits to two doctors yesterday, I really am nowhere closer to knowing just what the heck is going on, but more labs were drawn and pancreatic enzyme samples were given and I came home determined to keep a cheerful and loving attitude in the face of trying to ignore the freak show in my head.

I have self-diagnosed ovarian cancer, anal/rectal cancer, colon cancer, pancreatic cancer, liver failure, lung cancer, lupus, arthritis, spinal cancer, a Crohn's flare up, a diverticulitis flare up, medication reactions, medication interactions, medication allergies, and a bacterial infection caught from a micro-cut on my legs after shaving that allowed a rare paramecium into my bloodstream from the apartment complex swimming pool.

(Before you cancel me and label me ridiculous and offensive to anybody who has had any if the above, may I just point out that I had thyroid cancer, have Crohn's, diverticulitis, pancreatitis, and kidney failure, am a solid organ transplant patient and who has a chart that explains how my family history IS the history of heart disease, cancer of multiple types, and a ton of crap that probably wasn't even invented yet.)

So when I tell you I don't feel good, I'm not trying to get out of gym class. When I don't feel good, something catastrophic usually follows.

I have faith. I really do. And I practice gratitude and pray to God OFTEN and only ask for one thing...that I can live in a way that is worthy of all of the ridiculously amazing blessings of my life. But every now and then I guess I just need a good little wig-flip to clear the cobwebs.

Now if you'll excuse me, in the words of Hugh Grant in Four Wedding and a Funeral, I think that I really must be where other people are not for a minute. Fortunately for my Jersey Boy he is working over on campus this evening, and I'm hoping that a few hours of stitching will screw my head back on straight.

I'd love to tell you that I've embarked on something new and wonderful from my July basket, but the truth is that I'm just going to pull out a WiP and stab it a few thousand times to see if that exorcises my demons.

Updates when I have them, I promise. For now, I promise you that I am doing absolutely every single thing that every single doctor has advised me to do. My (bleepity) might not be together, but I'm damn sure not doing anything that's going to make anything worse. I swear.

Happy Weekend! Enough about me and back to you. What are your plans for the next few days? Come tell me all about it!