Three out of four Fridays is just a lot. They come around so fast, and the respite is too brief. There just aren't that many nights that I feel like drinking champagne.
How can I say that I want to continue with treatment? But how can I say that I want to stop, when stopping represents failure of one of the "nicer" therapies, and means one less option, and that I'm that much closer to running out of time, as well?
These are rhetorical questions!
I ate jambalaya tonight, and Janis' chocolate peanut butter cookies of wonder and delight (as I've dubbed them). I have reason to believe that my Christmas tree will be beautiful, and I know that I couldn't have a sweeter, better, smarter, kinder, more handsome, husband.
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