I'm in DC for my trial. (Clinical, not criminal.)
This was the first time that I came down thinking, "Damn, this is really a pain in the ass." I have a pretty high tolerance for inconvience.
But this trip has been kind of great. Crazy expensive hotels meant I found a really sweet room in someone's house on airbnb. In the room, I found the book "A Month in the Country." Apocalyptic deluge meant I stayed in reading. Today I visited a fucking gorgeous apothecary museum in Alexandria, and had one of the best dinners I've had in my life.
I figured out great things, and raised more questions, about my novel, and generally did a lot of satisfying thinking.
While at the hospital Wednesday, I meditated between vitals checks. I pictured inhaling all the stars in the sky, and stacking them up to rebuild myself.
And last night, I realized that the next time someone asks, I will say "I had cancer."
It's not over. I know that. And I know I won't always feel so confident and unsuperstitious. But still. Had. Had!