Saying the right thing. It’s so much harder than I thought it would be. And I’ve learned I have very little patience for people who say the completely wrong thing.

For instance, I was talking with my mother today. A friend of mine may have a serious condition and I was a little upset about it. She goes, “Why did she even tell you if she wasn’t sure what it was yet. Why didn’t she just wait?” And I’m all like, what the hell does that mean? And she proceeded to tell me that ofcourse, she would wait until she was certain before unloading that on “someone like me”. Which put me through the roof. And I was like, “What the hell does that mean? Because I would think that if you had a friend who had been through a serious illness, that that would be the first person that you turned to because they would understand. So, now people are supposed to avoid telling me unpleasant news because at one point in time I was sick and they should only tell me things if they’re certain?”

She had no reply and she just couldn’t answer, just kept going on and on and about how what this person did (by telling me, mind you) was inconsiderate and wrong and blah blah blah and I had to say to her, “You know what? You’re making this worse. I have to go.”

I’m sorry, I love my mother, but I’m going to disagree with her here. But at the same time, I don’t know if I should take her advice. So, when I feel sick or if the doctor tells me, “I’m going to do some tests” I should just not tell anyone? Just kind of go through that alone? Wait and see what comes down the pike? Keep it all in? Be scared and nervous and just say, “Well, I mean I’m a nervous wreck and talking about this with someone might help but since I’m not 100% sure what’s going on, I’m going to keep it to myself”. Which I’ve been accused of doing. And told not to do. I don’t know, I don’t like to be thought of as fragile, as not being able to handle certain things. Not true!

I’m a very superstitious person. I mean, sadly so. Recently, I haven’t been feeling all that great, so I was staying away from putting anything down on paper. My fear was, I put it out there, completely out there for me to read again and again, and I might make all my fears real. Saying something makes it true I suppose in my warped world.

But the good news is that what seems like it really just a little fatigue (probably from the heat) and allergies, really is not signs that my tumors are back. This time I was extremely nervous. I kept playing out all sorts of scenarios in my head. How to break it to my parents, what would I do with work, etc. I thought to myself—this is it. I have to do this. But being overdramatic has its benefits since it would seem that I was not only fine, but really fine, and I was able to spend a weekend without the threat of needing to get thrown back into that life that I happily left behind. I always feel guilty for feeling like it has come back, and then there are other people who have already gone through that moment, and I get to be like, “whew, worried for nothing.”

My anxiety hasn’t totally gone into remission though. Like right now, I still have butterflies in my stomach. Why? I’m not really sure. My friend says it’s because I refuse to let anything good happen to me. I’m always searching for the loophole, the way out, analyzing everything to death until I’ve come up with every scenario and have gone through the gamut of emotions so that I wind up tired and empty and totally don’t remember what the happy part felt like.

See happiness is so much more like trying to catch water. Whereas misery is much more visceral, much more lasting, and ofcourse, loves company. It’s not that I’m miserable; I’m just realistic but am a generally contented person. It’s the excitement piece that I’m not so good at. I remember my friend Alessandra used to say every time she started dating a new guy, “Hope for the best but expect the worst.” God, I remember that since the 9th grade. Anyway, I cant’ tell you how many times I’ve heard that since then in almost every capacity. Maybe that’s what we train ourselves to do. Hope for happiness but expect to be let down. Then if it works out you’re pleasantly surprised; but still expecting it all to come crashing down around you. So, hmm, maybe that’s a really crappy philosophy.

I don’t know. Like, I get the all-clear and I’m already panicked about the December one. I think we all do things like that—for women waiting for your period to confirm that you’re not pregnant, only to spend another month waiting for it to come again because this month might be different. We’re always walking on eggshells. Waiting for something to happen that will upset the balance we’re trying to create. Life is compartmentalized, broken down into manageable units of time, either by months or weeks or milestones and events. We spend our time thinking of how what we do now will affect our future; and then if when we look back on what we did, if we wasted any time. There’s so much planning and Monday-morning quarterbacking, that I’ve forgotten how to live in the moment. Like to enjoy this exact moment in time, to think that this is perfect for right now—and if I wind up sick in December it takes nothing away from those two years that I was okay.