Everywhere I go, people are talking about the weather. Mostly, some variation on "Where the fuck is the spring??"
There's something very striking to me about the reluctance to appear this spring seems to have. We have stuff in common, I think. I too am reluctant.
I saw my plastic surgeon, and he said my reconstructive surgery, my exchange to real implants, could be as soon as next week. And though I've been waiting since August to get rid of these expanders (AKA turtle shells, AKA pit tits to us infusion rats) it felt sudden.
This season of birth and rebirth, growth and change...I'm not quite ready for it. I'm still hanging around as my crumpled, dried out dead leaf self. Amazing that I didn't turn to dust over winter, but now just in the way of pretty green things.
I haven't been to my little plot in the community garden in a very long time. Before I started chemo, I ripped everything out, figuring I wouldn't have the strength to prepare for winter when it really was time to do it. That was in September.
I'm going to head over there now, just to take a look and see what's survived the winter, and what's coaxed itself out of the ground in spite of me.