I've been afraid to write lately. The entire purpose of this blog is for me to remember the ups and downs of my life in the event that something happens to me and I have problems remembering. I also write to express myself in a way that I feel comfortable with. I write to make sense of complicated situations. I write to remind myself of where I came from and how far I've actually come. I write for me. But I don't want to remember this point in time in my life. There is too much wrong- too much negativity.

But I feel like I am restraining myself from speaking my mind and possibly making sense of situations that are bothering me. Maybe if I get all this mumbled junk out of my head, I'll finally be able to sleep again.

I'm scared. Sometimes there are events in your life in which you just have no control over. I've been diagnosed with "pre-cancerous" cells in my cervix which means that I am sick. How sick? Well I don't know, and I won't know until after my appointment on Monday. I'm frustrated with the medical system. The first week of September I went to the doctors for a check up. I had just broken up with a man I didn't trust and I felt that I should get checked out for my own piece of mind. Plus, I had to get my birth control re-prescribed in October. I figured I would go a month early... what was the harm. Well, woman's intuition was correct, I was sick. I was infected with a disease which has the potential to make me infertile. When I got that call I was instantly angry. I was furious. I was angry with myself. I let him do this to me... I wasn't good enough to make him keep his cock in his pants and he's hurt me physically and mentally because of his selfishness.

I was so angry with life but I was thankful that it only took my doctor eight days to get back to me. Wow.. what a relief that I figured this out soon enough. It may not hurt me in the long run. What a relief. I thought the worst of it was behind me.

I was so wrong. Two weeks later, a full three weeks after my initial appointment, my doctor called again. Worse news. Pre-cancer. Wow. That hit me like a brick. I sat down on the floor of my kitchen and tried my best to listen to what my doctor was telling me. I tried to absorb all of the information but I believe I was in shock and I don't know everything that she was trying to tell me. When I answered the phone I had my cell phone in my hand. As I sat on my kitchen floor sobbing, I sent a text message to him asking him to call me. I truly had no other thought in my mind except, I need to tell Tom. He'll make it better.

Two weeks after that moment I got a call from the hospital telling me that I had an appointment with a specialist in two weeks. That makes seven weeks from my initial appointment. What the hell is wrong with this system that it takes seven weeks from initial contact to see a specialist. Why does it take four weeks, a full month, since a woman is told she may have cancer and a larger chance of never have children, before she is seen by another doctor. That is just ludicrous. And it is no wonder woman all over Canada are walking zombies- too stressed out with worry to pay attention to what is going on around her.

I can only wonder how long it is going to take the hospital to get back to me with the test results.



Still no job. Two interviews so far, no luck yet. Things are starting to look up, and it is true that I said it will probably be mid October before I start to get interviews. The whole process was put into perspective for me today. 146 applicants for an entry level position. 16 chosen for a phone interview (which I was chosen for). 4-6 will be chosen for an in person interview. Then one final person will be selected. One out of 146 people. Holy crap. Looks like I have my work cut out for me.



I feel like my life is just one bad Jenga game. Everything is resting on each other and just ready to topple over at any time. BUT if one simple thing falls into place, everything will shift and maybe I won't feel like saying "fuck it" and going to work at Hooters. Just get me that job which will get me the apartment where I can put my clothes and furniture and get my privacy back. My piece of mind, my independence.



My Bumpa is sick. I always counted on him sticking around. He's survived two heart attacks, open heart surgery and an broken heart. I thought he was a goner after my Nannie passed away. I had never seen a man cry for so long and so hard. It broke my heart just looking at him. The sadness in his eyes, the way he looked at her picture, the broken spirit of a man I've only ever known as strong. After it all, he still talks about her like she's still around. I suppose his life hasn't changed much. I still hear him talking to her before he goes to bed at night. He always makes too much food for breakfast. He still goes through the motions. There is just nobody to talk back, nobody to eat that food and nobody to touch him to tell him it will be okay. Through the heartbreak I learned that I want a man who will look like that and feel like he did when I die. As horrible as that sounds, he was only that upset because their 53 years together was full of love, children, grandchildren, vacations and special moments shared between them. I can only hope to be that lucky. I guess I was selfish to want him to be at my wedding. Since I don't believe that is happening anytime soon, his memory will have to do.

At the end of August my family held him a surprise birthday party even though his birthday is in January. It seemed odd but I figured it was because he's usually in Mexico and our family hasn't got together for a long while. I guess somebody else knew more than I did. I got a rare opportunity to sit down with Bumpa's new girlfriend, Helen, to talk about life. I had never met her before, but I had heard all about her for the past two or three years. It just felt right to talk to her. What a wonderful lady. She reminds me of my Nannie so much- so warm and caring. I talked to her like I had known her forever.

That weekend I had found out some very disturbing information about Tom and I was distraught. Helen seemed like the only safe place for me. She was so genuine with her concern. She told me about when her husband died and how it tore her apart. She said she could see how hurt I was just by looking in my eyes. She told me I am a beautiful woman and I deserve to find a good man like my Bumpa is. I miss my Nannie. But I am thankful to have Helen in my life. I just wish I could spend more time with her. I feel like she is somebody I can learn a lot from.