Lashes, Lace and Laces (Or, loss, longing and luck)

I am cranky today. I know I’ve had a pretty good run with this whole cancer thing thus far, and for that I am grateful. And I have some good longevity (at least in the keeping-my-head-up department) and I am thankful for the strength I have found when I had to over the past year. But when my computer’s up and down and I can’t write, and my Netflix is speaking a different language and I can’t play outside and I’m girdled from head-to-toe and I can’t have a good long soak in the bath and then I realize that my eyelashes are falling out for the SECOND TIME, it’s time for a little rant. 

Really?? Just when I was starting to say things like “I’m starting to recognize the person I see in the mirror, and actually feel like my hair feels “on purpose”, and my chemo weight is gone, and my follow-up is near and the light is actually visible at the end of this long, brutal tunnel, my eyelashes decide they’re going to fall into the ‘cyclical loss and regrowth’ category I find on the internet thanks to Mr. Google. Can I join a different group? I have stuff to do! Who do I speak to about this? To whom do I send the memo that reads “You know that thing they say about being given what we can handle? I’M GOOD. Give me a few months of uncomplicated (and by that I mean no complications) healing time. Let me plan a trip. Go to lunch. Leave my house without makeup. Meet up with people I haven’t seen in awhile without them looking shocked and sorry when they see me. I want to feel normal, just for a few days. Thank you. And piss off.”

Okay. Rant done.  (and I do realize that my failing Netflix and confused computer fall neatly into the category of ‘first world problems’. I get it. In the big scheme of things, all I need to do is put on some damned eyeliner and get on with my day. Not helping.)

The funny thing is, these are. 



I got these for Christmas this year, and after some confusing size-exchanging they are finally home. My sister once mentioned a pair of boots that changed her life. These are the ones that are doing what I need right now. These boots bring me back to a cocky, fearless, sexy, all-about-the juxtaposition, late-night-slam-dancing me that I really need to connect with right now. So I’m lacing them up. Putting on the Ramones, and having a vivid fantasy about slam-dancing on a dance floor full of angry. Because this middle-aged, lash-losing cranky woman just isn’t doing it for me today. 


4 thoughts on “Lashes, Lace and Laces (Or, loss, longing and luck)

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