Hm, I used to use that word--coinkeedink--a lot as a kid, but I never saw it in print before. Anyway, I like it when weird things happen. Like today, when I was walking down Davie Street before my appointment for a CT scan on my leg...For some odd reason, I had this thought: "I wonder if I'll run into Mike C.?" Then I was kinda drawn into the Book Warehouse moments later, where, as a matter of fact, I ran into Mike C. He asked me how I was doing, and I said something like, "I'm doing. . .whatever"--which aptly describes the whole cancer thing. So we had a nice chat, after which I was drawn to the back of the Book Warehouse, where I found two extremely discounted books: The Summer of Her Baldness: a cancer improvisation, by Catherine Lord, and A Safe Place: A Journal for Women with Breast Cancer, by Jennifer Pike. I bought them both right away! You would think that because I like making handmade books and that I am a big journaler that I wouldn't dig guided journal type of books, but I actually find them to be useful sometimes. Anyway, I'm really excited about these finds! And it was nice to walk around town, just looking at storefronts and everyone enjoying the last sunny days of summer (which we didn't have much of in Vancouver this year).
Then I came home. To my parents and kids (Dude is in LA, and I wish I had gone with him, taken the risk). My parents, of course, are concerned about me and came all the way from Pennsylvania last week to help out for a couple months. But what I don't really dig is being treated like a complete invalid. At the moment, I'm feeling completely fine, but my mom kinda won't let me do simple things like heat my own food in the microwave or wash a spoon. It's driving me a little nuts, but I'm trying to keep things in perspective. She wants me to rest, but I don't want to be bedridden! So I'm trying to let her know that the best help is taking the kids outside to play or to the park. It's hard to balance out having loved ones help while also trying to maintain a certain level of independence. And despite my attempts to communicate my wishes, Mom still pushes me back to my bed.
I. Have. A. Headache.
So, what to do? I haven't played the shakuhachi in a while. Maybe now's the time.