Getting Punched Hurts

I have had a busy day today.

Up early to work on rental payments -- Don had a recording session scheduled for the office, so I had to be in and out before 9 a.m.

Laundry.

Then inspiration!

A bit of yard work -- really just cleaning up the weeds and moss growing up alongside and in the middle of our front sidewalk. While I was outside working, Richard came by. Richard is one of our tenant-neighbors. He asked me how I was doing. I told him that I was doing ok, still in the middle of chemotherapy, with more and different treatments ahead.

As I answered him, I heard my voice and listened to my words, and thought "who is she talking about?"

It was one of those surreal moments. Like when you analyze a word you use all the time. You see a word like "semblance" and it all of a sudden looks weird. You think "isn't that an odd spelling?"

So, who was I talking about?

Who is battling breast cancer?

Chemotherapy?

Other treatments?

It COULDN"T be me!

Ohh. It IS me.

Another "punched in the stomach by cancer" moment.

I hate being punched.

Because it hurts.