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Although expletives are implied rather frequently throughout the Well Read Hostess archives, I try not to use them overtly, especially the BAD ones, very often. Mostly because my mother calls me and yells at me when I do, but also because something mumble mumble OK really that’s the main reason.
It is with some hesitation, but not a whole lot, then, that I write the following:
Fuck
Fuck Fuck
Shit
Fuck.
Why? Why Fuck Fuck Fuck Shit Fuck? One reason really, but it’s an umbrella reason. One of those big ass golf umbrellas of a reason, in fact, that holds under its striped canopy a whole host of other reasons.
We all try to walk the walk we talk in a bunch of different ways. Mostly, though, that talk we walk is kind of lame. Yes…I try to monitor what my kids watch on tv and yes I limit how long my son plays his DS because I don’t want his brain to turn to pudding and I think active play is better than passive potato behavior. Yes…I try to give anonymously to people or causes in need because it’s not about me, it’s about the people or causes in need. Yes…I realize that buying more plastic crap for my kids to assuage my guilt about being a working mother is counterproductive so I try to make sure they know I love them and am thinking about them in other ways. And on and on and on.
Intellectually I know that whether or not the shoes are or are not all in the damn shoe basket by the back door and the sinks in the bathrooms are or are not streaked with dried toothpaste is utterly meaningless in the scheme OF THINGS. THINGS being that which matters, health, comfort, safety, love, happiness. But this is talk I have trouble walking. I forget, daily, that I am meant to be living in the moment and appreciating what I have and being the best I can be at what matters and letting the rest of it go. Yes…I realize that’s a whole bunch of clichés, but those clichés got to be clichés for a reason – they’re really important and people should be overusing them.
I have a friend who is really good at walking the walk. She fought cancer a few years ago, and even though she has always been, since forever ago when we became friends in elementary school, someone of great integrity, during and since her surgeries and treatments she has become this beacon for me…a shining example of how to take joy in what you have. I have not had one single interaction with her in years, even before she had cancer, in which she has not made her affection and appreciation for me absolutely clear. If she’s coming to visit, she makes a point of saying, “I’m coming to see you, not your house, so don’t bother tidying up.” She loves her three boys fiercely, but has these miraculous and beautiful relationships with them based entirely on the character and nature of each boy, not on her (or anyone else’s) idea of what maternal love should be.
So she’s sick again. And in her message telling me this, she indicated that she’d like a green wig this time around instead of the pink one like the chick from Lazytown, and that we, her friends, are not to feel pity, but stay positive and happy. I can rustle up a green wig, no problem. Hell, I’d dye my own hair green, shave it off, and weave it into a beehive wig for her if she wanted me to. I don’t think I feel pity, but I feel something, and today it’s more akin to the sadness associated with pity than the positivity and happiness she has so characteristically requested.
I’m sad for her that she has to spend one moment of her life worrying or being afraid. I’m sad for her that she has to suffer through the well-intentioned but ultimately challenging and icky ministrations of the medical team that will oversee her care.
I’m sad for that she has to wonder “what if…”
I’m sad for her that some of her friends, ahem…that would be me, can’t make the leap into positivity and happiness just yet. Maybe tomorrow, but not today. I’m trying. I’m really trying. It’s not that I don’t think this is beatable. Honestly, I don’t give anything much of a chance against her; she’s that tough (and so is her sister who helps hold her up through this kind of crap, who is a FORCE). It’s more dread for what’s to come between now and the victory party.
And I’m really angry. I’m really mad at myself for giving a good goddamn about toothpaste in the sink and muddy shoes in the living room.
Once more with feeling:
Fuck
Fuck Fuck
Shit
Fuck.
I’ll say it with you.
Fuck
Fuck Fuck
Shit
Fuck.
Fucking fuck. Shit. Damn – Barb Joyce already wrote that. Sort of. Prayers. Karma. Hope. Help weaving that wig?
If anything deserves some F-bombs, this news does. Your friend is in our thoughts — and no matter what you think, she’s very lucky to have you. Thank you so much for sharing and for reminding us once again of what’s really important.
I’ll throw a fuck out there for you too. Cancer sucks (I had it too years ago). My heart goes out to your friend and her family, and I wish for her all the strength she’ll need to get through whatever’s next. And you too. Keep your head up. And fuck cancer.
It’s like an F Bomb Army! I love it! Keep them coming! Tell a friend!
Sale on F bombs at WRH! Let ‘er rip!
Oh bloody hell. I’m so sorry. And I’m worried — anyone I know? Fuck!!
If anything deserves a hearty fuck off, it’s cancer. And recurring cancer? That motherfucker can kiss my winter-white ass. My mother has had cancer twice, breast and colon, so this is some familiar territory.
I swear, if I ever meet cancer in a dark alley…
I am so sorry, but glad to hear your friend is TOUGH and has such loving others to be tough for her too. Just don’t be too tough on yourself; the news was a blow and it’s no surprise you feel sad and pissed and find yourself sputtering fuck.
BTW, my daughter has a head full of lovely brown and golden hair with copper highlights she’s been growing to donate…if your friend changes her mind about green. Prayers headed her way and yours…
To quote the great Samuel L. Jackson: MOTHER FUCKER.
I’ll keep your friend in my prayers.
I love your entry reminding us what’s really important. It’s so easy to lose sight of that in our daily lives.
Cancer is a shit and time is a bitch.
Let’s hope she doesn’t have to give up too much time to the bitch and she flushes that shit away quickly.
My thoughts are with your friend during her battle.
That sucks. Shitfuckshitfuckshitfuck.
Prayers for you all.
I add a hearty FUCK as well. You have gracefully captured how important it is to stay away from belly-button gazing and maintain a universal perspective. I say we all let our sinks get a little crusty in solidarity!
Well, crap. I’ll keep you all in my thoughts.
Son of a bitch.
Fuck Cancer. Fuckityfuckit all to hell.
So sorry, Sweetie.
That sucks.
I wish your friend the strength to fight, the will to win, the buoyancy of family and friends and a trip to her 40th class reunion.
As a crazy runner friend of Brother who supports stomping this cancer bug out…I’ll happily agree with you and send out my most positive vibes. But since I gave up swearing for Lent…I give you the edited version of my favorite curse song.
SHI* – DAM* – FUC* – COC* – BALL*
I’m with Scottsdale Girl on this one – I’m more of a fuckity fuck fuck fuck sort of gal.
Having been the one to deal with cancer, I never looked at it from a friend’s perspective before; thank you for shining a light on that. You sound like a treasure of a buddy. Big Hugs to you.
You had me at fuck. Hang in there. You might be surprised at how useful a swearing buddy can be…
Cancer is a fucking bitch.
Prayers for your friend and all who know and love her.
Having several friends with cancer, this really struck a chord, an emotional note. Having done the Avon walk, I met many incredible, brave, optimistic people.Putting life into perspective is a struggle for most of us, and I feel blessed that I have had these people help me figure out what is important and what isn’t.
Fuck.
Last week I learned that a friend – who has never smoked a day in her life – just had a recurrence of lung cancer.
Fuck Cancer.
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