I'm at work and I want to leave. My brain isn't into the work today, and I'm so depressed. Everything is so drab and blah and I have to deal with the same people I deal with every day. A bunch of depressing gambling addicts who blame me for all of their gambling problems. I've been at this job for so long, and I just want to leave.
My body is getting wasted here. My back kills. My arms and shoulders always hurt. My head aches, my neck is stiff. I've given my body to these people, and they pay me shit. It is horrible.
I don't want to be like "woe is me, woe is me." I can get out of here. Was waiting for after our cruise in September to work on selling my place and moving to St. Louis, and then BOOM! cancer.
I don't want to be angry, but am angry.
I don't want to be sad, but am sad.
Frustrated, forlorn, and lacking energy.
My head aches bad , and it is hard to write and hard to be creative when I do it.
But all this is not the topic of this blog entry.
Tonight I will tell my parents. I don't want to do it, but I have to. They need not find out another way. They've always tried to shelter me from the pain and misery they experience, but I can't do that to them. I don't want to be that way. I need to be honest.
The plan is to drive over to McDonalds when I get off, order a McFlurry with Oreos, take a deep breath, and call them. I'm just going to come right out with it. Why dilly dally? I'll frame it like they caught it early, but they probably will do the chemo and radiation as a precaution. I'm not telling them about the ileostomy. I'm not telling anyone about that, except for Rachel and you.
How's my dad going to take it? He has gone through so much, and has spent so much of his life worrying about me, his first-born son, and I feel like I have been a disappointment.
I told my parents. I did what I said I would do and got the ice cream and called them. They took it ok. They want to make sure I will be okay. I framed it like it wasn't as bad as I am worried it is.