Ick.

I left work after lunch today. I drove home on a freeway that seemed much more wiggly that it ever had before -- my apologies if you happened to be on W 580 at 1:30 PM today -- made it up the stairs and fell into this good, good, chair.

My blood feels like 40 weight and the back of my head is caught in the jaws of a demonic nutcracker. It doesn't stop. There are weights tied to my ankles and elbows, and ants crawling on my feet and hands. And over it all, a thin glaze of nausea, sticky & omnipresent.

This isn't the cancer. This is the treatment. It's nuts. I'm just dying, just like everyone else. Sooner than expected, later than some... it's not the end of all things. All of this fuss. For what?

I'll try a new anti-nausea drug next time. Try to negotiate myself a chemo break. Keep resting my head next to Eric at night... still my favorite thing in the whole, big, world.

The whole, big, world, but it feels smaller every day. I need to switch it up. Soon!