The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense.
~ Tom Clancy

I think this is why I used to love to read so much.
Now, I can't read. Not like I used to. I can't keep up anymore.
I have to restart, whenever I stop because I can't remember 'key' things the way I used to.
Which is why I use to love my Reader's Digest subscription so much.
I could get lost in little tid-bits of reality, that more often than not, end well.

And reality, well...that I don't want to keep up with most times.
I'd rather throw myself to the floor like a three year old having a temper-tantrum and deny it instead.
Of course, that gets one nowhere really quick, so I don't.

I was feeling half-way good about things and indifferent about other things.
As is par the course for me, I suppose.
Don't think I wrote about here, so I do a little 'fill-in' before I rant.
There's been trouble on the horizon as far as getting Moby overseas.
Animals aren't permitted to travel when the temperature's are over 85 degree's.
Makes perfect sense. Probably made even more perfect sense whatever year it was made an official Animal Welfare Act or Law or whathaveyou.
It's a little confusing now though.
The airlines, state that the animals are kept in a climate controlled facility, prior to their flight. They are then transferred to a climate controlled section of the plane for the flight and upon arrival of their destination, they are again transferred to another climate controlled facility until someone picks them up.
So, apparently the big deal about the high temperature, is that window of minutes when the animal is taken to or from the facility to the plane and back.
The problem we've had, is that the policy apparently goes by whatever the mid-day high temperature is...
Brilliant...if the animal is departing or arriving during said mid-day high temperature.
Why this reasoning still applies to animals that are arriving in the early morning hours or night-time hours...you know...when the freaking temperatures aren't mid-day high...is the problem we're having.
So the dead-end we've currently hit is that the final decision, rests with one person at the airline, that decides whether or not, it is safe for the animal to fly.
Nobody at the airline, seems to know this persons name.
Morons.
So we'll see.
That's where it's at.
The only good news this whole process involves, is a wee-little bit of progress on my part.
I've been very, very stressed. About everything.
And it got to a point that TheRammerHammer actually said the words, "Let me fight this fight for you, Peg."
I was stunned. I didn't know what to say or how to respond, at first. I've never had anyone say those words to me. E.v.e.r.
Certainly not ever in a romantic relationship.
And it took a couple of hours of reckoning in my head and my heart.
But I did it.
I.Let.Go.
It's the first time, in my life...I have ever let go.
Which got me to thinking that at first, I haven't exhaled in almost two years.
Then I realized, that I really haven't exhaled my entire life.
I moved out when I was 16. It was me against the world.
Then I had Daisy, and not long after that...it was she and I against the world.
And even when I was married to S...it didn't turn out to be what a marriage is supposed to be...so I was still fighting for two.
Now I'm in uncharted territory.
And I kinda like the way it feels.
I know that life still won't be perfect and that it will still be filled with trials and tribulations all along the way...but I feel as if I might actually collapse into TheRammerHammer's arms on the 15th...I feel like, for the first time in my life...I will be able to exhale.

Which leads to my next topic...a suck ass topic.
I can't testify about other diseases, but cancer can be very confusing.
Once you have it and go through all the bullshit...you come to a point, or at least I did, where I started bouncing back and forth about the future.
You get tired of the poking and the prodding...and it feels as if there is a monkey on your back named 'cancer'... that is just waiting for the right time to pounce again and you instinctively know that 'the right time' will be the exact time you let your guard down...
So there are times when you can't wait for your scans, because you just know in your heart that they will be okay.
Then there are other times, when you dread them, and even reschedule them...because you hate that freakin' monkey and the power that it holds and the only way you can take the power back is to not know and not care about knowing and just let life take whatever course it is going to take without the input and intervention of medicine and technology.
Which is where I am right now.
I look at myself in the mirror every, single day and feel the pain I feel and I can't help but ask myself out loud, "What on earth did you let these people pump into you?"
Irrationally, I don't want to do anything else. No more doctors. No more medicines.
I feel as if my body fought what they were doing, fought the medicine and what the medicine was supposed to do and came out of menopause for a reason.
I want a normal life back.
TheRammerHammer and I have spoke of perhaps having another child someday.
Been thinking about finding out what the effects of all of the crap they've already pumped into me, might have on a future pregnancy and if it's possible to conceive and carry to term...
Or perhaps finding out if it is possible than to proceed further and then discuss and make a plan for more medicine afterwards...
And today, I find confirmation of something terrible.
Something I didn't comment about...or I couldn't bring myself to comment about...until it was for sure, one way or the other.
Lizard Eater's daughter, Little Warrior, has been re diagnosed.
And it breaks my heart. And it infuriates me.
It's not fucking fair.
It makes me realize and have to accept (once again, because I bounce back and forth) that a normal life will never again be possible.
I knew this a long time ago...I used to tell people that there were no "survivor's".
You hear of people getting cancer, going through cancer, fighting cancer, in remission from cancer and then you hear of them losing their battle with cancer.
It's just a matter of freakin' time before the other shoe drops...and you can get comfortable or not get comfortable with the time in between...but the damn thing always drops.
And I can handle that.
For me.
But not for Little Warrior. Not for any child.
It's not fucking fair.
And I hate it.
And then to read LE's words of, 'Why not me?"
Breaks my heart even more.
I can't help but want to scream at the damn computer screen, "NO! NOT YOU EITHER LIZARD EATER! WHY NOT ME?"
Children don't deserve this.
And mother's of little one's don't deserve this!
I've already had a long life.
And yes, a child always needs their mother, no matter how old they get, but my daughter is 18 now...she's ready to start her own life...
Little Warrior has her whole life ahead of her...and she and her siblings are young and they need their mother now.
And it's not fucking fair.
And even though I stand firm in my beliefs, or in what I don't believe in anymore, I guess would be more appropriate...I'm in awe of Lizard Eater.
I admire her strength and never-wavering faith in her g-d.
I don't know how she does it or where she finds the strength to do so.
But she should be nominated for some kind of an award or recognized in her church somehow.
And Little Warrior...well dammit...she doesn't deserve this crap at all...and I wish, I wish, I wish I could take it all away.
And I know I can't.
And it's not fucking fair.