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Sasquan was a blast! I spent time with old friends and new friends, including several folks who have been friends for a long time but I’d never met in person, including Best Roomie. Everyone had fun at the reading, though post-apocalyptic cats were clearly trumped by spiders. The Viable Paradise party was great, and Steph and I ended up hosting a snarky and alcohol-laden Hugos party with the leftovers. It still boggles me sometimes that I’ve become the kind of person who can throw a party at WorldCon and have people show up. Lots of people!

I’ve been all over the place, Portland, Pennsic, Spokane, and it’s been great. My physical health is excellent and steadily improving as I get farther away from chemo (four months!) and surgery (almost a year!). My CEA is still normal. I’m walking to work sometimes (Monday was the first day I’ve done so since 2013) and kayaking. I’ve been doing yoga for months, trying to recover some strength and flexibility, and I’m contemplating gym membership or home weight-lifting.

Great, right?

But I am so fucking tired, mentally and emotionally. So tired. I can do all the things physically, but how do I do all the things? How do I do any of them? I haven’t dealt with any of the paperwork from my mother’s death (I have time; this is not urgent), my house is a disaster, I’m just barely not failing my annual review at work. The bills are paid and the cats are fed, but that’s about it. Adulting? Not happening. I haven’t been there for friends either, which makes me sad.

I feel like I should be a cheery TV special. “I beat cancer sunshine daisies joy laughter sparkles unicorns.” But it’s harder than that, deeper and more complicated. Slower, too.


  1. Carol Reed says:

    I’m glad you have made it through this summer — you’ve had a schedule that would leave *me* tired. (Yeah, not a fair comparison, but it’s what I’ve got.) You made it through all of your surgery and chemotherapy, which is absolutely fantastic. But you’re wondering why you’re mentally and emotionally tired? You *deserve* to be! You have been involved in a great battle with cancer. You are still facing the final rounds of closure for your mother’s death (which is always emotionally wrenching — I’ve lived through it, too). And you’re trying to catch up on your career, which has had to be put to one side while you were dealing with everything else being thrown at you. Give yourself a break. Real Life is allowed to take over, and you’re allowed to concentrate on getting your strength — both physical and mental — back before you collapse into a pile of wet noodles. The rest of us will be happy to help lighten your load. Let me know how I can help you. Even from a distance, there are ways I can help virtually, I’m sure. But you are the only one who can take care of you. That has to come first.

  2. Nathan Goslee says:

    Lil brother

  3. Marjorie says:

    I am glad you got to have fun. And no, you shouldn’t be a cheery TV special. You’re you. You’ve gone through a combination of things; cancer, treatment, your mom, any one of which would knock anyone for six.

    Also, in spite of it all, you’re alive, you’re holding down a job and *not* failing your review, your bills are paid and the cats are fed. Those are big, big achievements.

    I can’t help thinking, too, that it is helpful to say that you’ve said. I’m pretty sure that there are other people out there feeling as if they ought to be Cheery TV inspirational stories, and needing some reassurance that it’s not like that in real life.

    Lots of hugs. Be nice to yourself, you deserve it. x

  4. I wish I could make it all go away and be better, but that machine hasn’t been invented yet, and I’m too busy playing bejewled to make it myself.

    Or something like that.

    I wish you the strength and courage to keep going, one day at a time. And that sooner rather than later you rediscover your balance–whatever you decide that balance should be.