I’m so not a hero. Whilst I’m blown away by all the beautiful comments due to my oversharing I really am not. A hero I mean. I’m just really trying my damndest to get through this thing intact. Well intact ish. And to be authentic. I don’t believe in the always be positive crap. I mean obviously be positive. But always be positive? What a crock of shit. Sometimes be sad and own that moment. Sometimes be angry and own that moment. Sometimes be vulnerable and own that moment. And yes fuck it, share it with those who love you. Be authentic. No one is happy and positive all of the fucking time. That is just weird and masks you from real emotion. It doesn’t allow people to let you see them in all their ugliness and glory. But let them be moments you allow, acknowledge and let go. Because being happy and positive is so much a better choice. So I choose to love this beautiful messy life we are all blessed to share. I’m a bit of a quote girl and fuck me I think I’m  becoming a tattoo girl too. On my list of things to do today is phone my oncologist to find out if my white blood count is high enough so I can get a tattoo. I mean really, who is so deep in la la land. Anyway. A quote my girls have heard ad nauseum, you can’t control what happens to you, only how you choose to respond, is how I choose to live my life. The big word for me in this is choose. We have a choice. That is what sets us apart. And makes us us. Why would you choose to give up? To be fearful. To not be positive. I don’t. So the hair thing is really a choice to live my truth. Saying fuck you to this thing. But yet acknowledging it. My hair will fall out. So this is not a new hairdo but a big huge it is what it is. See the quote thing again? Anyway it’s choosing to be light at a not light time. Choosing not to go into hiding.  I wake up and see this strange odd woman looking back at me and I smile. And I feel like a warrior. And why would you not. Not decide to smile. A smile hides a heap of shit but damn it can make you feel good. It’s just a choice. And if that makes me heroic, dammit I’ll own it.

So where am I now. Day 13 of first chemo. They count it in days. Because at roughly certain days you should expect a new kind of hell. So on day 13  I’m supposed to feel slightly less nauseous, more fatigue, the debilitating muscle pains should abate, and my white blood count should improve. All good in the land of hell actually. And just as I feel like me again it’s time for the next round. And that’s next week already. Day 21. When my hair should fall out. Loving the should. Maybe I’ll stay blonde. What a hoot.

two hundred and forty eight


Today I am grateful for a talented friend who totally got my verbal, just a small retro something, brief for a last minute cake for Jem’s birthday tomorrow. A lovely lovely gracious lady who seldom says no and means it too. I am grateful for authentic genuinely kind friends who teach me to be better. I’ll always be a last minute queen. But better.

two hundred and forty two

I simply can’t capture the delightful moment I shared with a charming elderly gentleman today. I had just ordered my coffee when I caught his eye as he was struggling out of his jumper (or jersey depending on where you’re from). He winked at me and said, I’m always here about now, stripping for the customers. It was so delightfully unexpected. He was a real gentleman too in dress and demeanour. Hilarious. What a delightful character. I am so grateful for this little moment which just made the world a little lighter. And for having the pleasure of meeting this lovely man. And Jo, I’m not stalking older people, I’m not. But I am loving them.

one hundred and sixteen

I am grateful for a quick coffee that lasts a morning. For time spent with an honest, authentic, inspiring but most importantly what you see is what you get friend. And consistently so. It is very reassuring to share truth with someone who respects honesty and sharing as much as I do.  And who uses the word ‘shame’ as much as I do too.