Decided to give in to the wretchedness today. Made it on the walk to and from Stella's school, giving the usual "good, good!" reply to the chorus of mommy requests for my state of the nation post-round seven. Even made it to Thrifty's for some muesli and salad nicoise ingredients. Why I'm making a salad for dinner on a day when Frances got up at 4:50 a.m. and I feel like eating nothing but bread and jam is beyond me, but there you have it. I'm focused.
But moving my body like the oldest woman in the world and have the spotty skin of a 14-year old boy to go with it. Haven't had a pimple since this whole chemo parade started more than four months ago, so don't quite know what to do with this vicious case of hormone overload. Assuming it's a side effect. Ignoring it like a good student of cancer.
Haven't juiced yet today and feel the poorer for it. I've got a bucket full of beets, carrots, apples and celery on my back deck and a fridge full of peppers, spinach, chard and lemon. My beautiful new juicer, which is a miracle of plant-squeezing loveliness, is beckoning me, but my fingers are so torn up from the peeling and cleaning it's only a matter of time before a bacterial infection takes hold.
So I took a nap at 10:30 a.m. and just got out of a hot bath after doing nothing in between but eat some leftover leek and potato soup and watch an episode of the Barefoot Contessa. Ugh.
To sum up? I feel wretched today and I'm wallowing in it before I have to trot off to pick up the girls for Stella's hip-hop class this afternoon.
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