Where is my body?
My feet don't appear to be anywhere on the ground. It's not quite 24 hours after Aredia, a so-not-longish infusion at the outpatient infusion center. It looks like a manic yellowjacket unleashed some serious whoop-ass on my forearm. The vein is a distinct purply salmon tributary, swollen and thrown into relief against the white underbelly of my arm. My head is somewhere. Maybe it's under my covers still or hovering above the toilet looking for extra toothpaste. I can taste chemical in my mouth. It's Christmas Eve, and I am running around in shorts. There is something very wrong with that statement on the East Coast. I have to brave Best Buys now to get my sis her prezzie. I wonder if it's socially acceptable around the holidays to post warning quotes on one's forehead with a red sharpie... "Don't push me. I am not okay." -"Jumpers," Sleater-Kinney
Photo credit: "DSC 6045" by junku on flickr (click on photo for more of this artist's work).