My eyes are so bleary right now, I can hardly read to save my life.
Now, you may wonder why I can see the letters on the keyboard and type and all that. I often do myself.
I guess I'm just special that way.

During dinner tonight, I was telling mom how I didn't mind the patented Guys Stubble on my head. "I honestly really truly without a doubt don't mind it," I said, "but fuchen, no amount of conditioner will soften it."
For some reason, this sent mum into gales of hysterical laughter, but I can't figure out why. Perhaps that wine was more potent than we realized.

And right after dinner, my youngest brother came down from his shower wearing a navy-blue bathrobe, a Darth Vader voice-changer mask (rather tilted), and carrying Yoda's lightsaber: Midget Darth Vader Home from cocktail Party.
"Loooke, baby, believe me, I am totally-HIC!-you father."

...Oh, yeah, and I'm also going to be Joan of Ark in a photo project in September. Apparently, the English shaved her head before leading her to the stake.
Did I forget to mention that?

And nobody wanted to take my picture before The Dreaded C Word. Maybe I'll just keep my head shaved when my hair starts growing back, I seem to be more popular as a model without it, although all my friends go about with permanently worried expressions...

On Monday, I received my first Flowers From Some One Who Will Not Reveal His/Her Name.
Having a life-threatening illness is definitely not without it's perks.

And I got to see all my guys (a.k.a. Boyscouts) Monday night, after I had my first choir thingymadohickey, and everything is very glowy.
You know, the irony of the world being glowy while I'm on Chemo's doorstep is sickening, but lo! even I shall endure...

I just made my first Legal MP3 Download!!! Be proud of me!

...And other breaking news stories. Hard facts, people. Not. A. Slow. News day.

Well, maybe. Perhaps...

Last night, around, oh, say, 9:30, while watching Fiddler on the Roof, a car pulls in to our driveway.
We're all thinking, Okay, they can't prove anything, we're innocent, and anyway, that whole Salamander Incident was all cleared up, right?
So then this midget (hey, it was dark out, 'K? Cut us some slack. My apologies to Laura, by the way...) comes running up our front stoop stairs, and we open the door, and are immediately assaulted by a huge display of FIREWORKS in our Cul-de-sack. I mean, it's completely fabulous, not only because it wasn't the authorities, but hey! Someone I Know (and Her/His/Their Kids) came and shot off Fireworks!
And then the neighbors came out, and they clapped, and we clapped, and The People I Know clapped, and we laughed and cried and made merry and had a grand old time.

It was seriously the best way to finish Radiation FOREVAH!!!

I am done!!!

...Somehow I imagined it would involve more firework displays and people running through the streets proclaiming my greatness...

Ah, well. I am going to be having Mimosas and chocolate and staying up late because I CAN, and also getting up LATE on a WEEK DAY like I haven't been able to do for SIX BLASTED WEEKS just because I like getting up late--My preferred hours are 9-5, so who can blame me?

Anywho...
There's nothing very exciting going on. I got a cut on my thumb pad while I was taking a Detox bath, but that is excessively dull...

Done! I am so happy...

TWO! MORE DAYS! OF MY ACCURSED RADIATION!

GO ME! GO ME! I LOVE THE CAPS-LOCK KEY!

Okay, I totally didn't mean for that to rhyme...
Also, you must remember that the Radiologists did absolutely nothing. The thrice-accursed Chuck Norris and I generated our own Radiation. We also went to Pluto. It was way cool.

My mum just got back from having an hour-long massage.
She came home smelling like oils and fresh sheets and stuff.
She immediately proceeded to draw herself a very deep, very hot, very bubblicious bath, light some candles, and have an enormous glass of very dry white.
Now, she is so relaxed that she is about to fall over on the couch and murmur for a blanket.

Five more days of Radiation.

Oh, and Carson moved to Wisconsin today, after drawing Chinese characters on my bald head with face paint.
I wrote him scads of letters with titles like, "To be opened when you miss me, if there ever is such an instance" and "To be opened when you need to scream, or, To be opened when you get to your house".

I admit, writing these letters was loads of fun.

Having Carson move...

Not so fun.