Feeling mean.

Some of these cancer ladies are out of their fucking minds. I belong to several online breast cancer groups. The women there can be very helpful. They "get" the fear and anxiety in a way that other people can't. But some of them are just crazily positive and prayerful and grateful for things that I consider to be the crumbs from God's table.

That's what they choose to present, anyway. There's no way to know who's really lurking behind these little windows. In the fleshy world they may be bitter and full of ire. But in cyberspace they are all happy, all the time.

Regina, for instance, has a pastel-pink, little-blonde-angel-laden, website. She directs all of the newly diagnosed women there, where they can learn how and why Regina is happy that she had cancer. She's happy because cancer has made her kinder, gentler, woman.

I suppose that may be true.

Regina has no recurrence. Regina is "dancing with Ned", as they say in breast cancer circles. NED is "no evidence of disease", and that's Regina, and she's happyhappyhappy.

I like Regina. She's always there with a kind word when I need one, and she encourages a lot of women. But she's sure made one big-ass pitcher of lemonade. She's made buckets of it.

Regina would never expect me to practice as aggressive a form of gratitude as she. Some other people, though...

The things people say to me just blow me away. People have suggested that it's easier for me to have a terminal illness than it would be for them, because I have a husband.

Hmmm.

Yes. So true. Because I do so relish the thought of watching Eric suffer right along with me.

And then there are the folks who say, "You have cancer and you STILL had a better weekend than I did! Look at all the fun things you did!"

Right... because everyone knows it's much better to have both a picnic and cancer than it is to be the picture of health but without a thing to do!

I'm making lemonade just as fast as I can, but forgive me if I'm not Regina.

I've always appreciated my life, and my husband, and our ability to have fun and experience joy. I don't understand why people want to remind me of the things that are good in my life. Does anyone think I've forgotten?

Is there someone who doesn't know that I spent all of the years of my early adulthood in a state of perpetual grief and loss, as people that I loved died, and died, and died? Have you heard the one about my brother lying in the street with a knife in his heart? Did you know that for the last few days of my mother's life she was convinced I was a imposter? I scared her. She wanted me to bring the real Martha back.

There's a reason why I've appreciated my husband and my life all along.

Unmarried people and folks with nothing to do on Saturday afternoon: Here's a newsflash. You're dying, as well.

Better get yourself some gratitude, people. Time's a-wasting.