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Blogathon for Tricia, Hour One: What in the hell am I going to do?

January 9th, 2010 (04:34 am)
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So. Here I go. Twenty straight hours of blogging.

Eep.

I will admit it, guys: I am completely underprepared for this. I am sitting here in a room whose heat broke two days ago, next to a window with a killer draft; I am wearing a purple bathrobe and rainbow socks courtesy of chavvah, and I should be wearing a Fraggle hat courtesy of chavvah but I'm not yet; my head is killing me and I don't know why; I don't drink coffee, and I don't drink tea; it's too cold for Diet Coke; and I have no idea what to say. This first post was supposed to be easy -- the introduction post, right? The I'm-gearing-up-for-this-awesome-badass-day-of-blogorrhea post?

Yeah, not so much.

But here I am, and this mocking white Notepad window is going to be filled up with black 12-point Courier New within the hour whether it wants to be or not. So I suppose I should find some shit to say, or something.

You know, it's funny. I've been stressing about this thing for weeks. You may have deduced this from the fact that I put it off for weeks. Yes, the holiday season combined with my upcoming book deadline presented a lot to handle, but I could have taken a day off. I just... I was scared.

I was scared that I couldn't handle it -- that I'd mess up my sleep schedule too much and knock my health off kilter; that I wouldn't be able to manage the actual writing-for-20-hours part; that no one would care even if I did it -- but that wasn't all, and it took me a really stupidly long time to realize what it was.

I didn't want to think about Tricia dying. So I didn't.

It didn't stop me, of course. The thought was everywhere, lurking in every corner of my mind that I wanted to ignore and couldn't. My dreams have been full of her; my days have been full of jolting reminders and attempts to pull away from them. The other day I saw an ad for the three-day breast cancer walk and it took me about thirty seconds to figure out why it made me sick to my stomach. Tricia had a small tumor in her breast a few years before she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. That's where it started.

Oh, yeah.

I have, in some way that beggars all logic, managed to get through twenty-eight years of my life without losing anyone I love to an unfair death. A few relatives I love have died, but they died of old age, basically, each of them well past eighty. It isn't the same when it's someone like Tricia. It isn't the same when it's something like this.

I am staring at this computer screen bleary-eyed and I'm not quite sure what I'm writing yet and I'm not quite sure that I'm awake yet. I am finishing this entry thirty-two minutes early, even though I suspect it doesn't really say anything much, and I'm going to take a shower and see if I can find myself a functioning brain before hour two, when I have an actual assignment. (A last-minute one, by the way, and quite an interesting one to boot. At least three-quarters of you are going to roar with laughter if I write what I think I'm going to, but that's okay.)

This isn't exactly a rip-roaring start to the long-anticipated blogathon, but it is a 'thon and not a sprint, and I have got nineteen hours and thirty minutes of it left. So I am LJ-cutting this so no one has to read it if they don't want to, and then I'm going to try to pull myself together and do better next hour. And then after that I'll tackle the hour after. And somehow -- somehow! -- I'll get through.

I repeat, though:

Eep.

This is the hour one post of my blogathon for my aunt Tricia, who is dying of end-stage ovarian cancer and whose family is being hit with a whole lot of bills that they can't afford alone as a result. Donations can be made at the link given above. A number of topics are still unclaimed and can be bought for $5 or more.

And you are all going to laugh your asses off at this, but I will not have a PayPal button until a few hours from now, because λ was the one who set that up and figured out how to do it and she forgot to email the instructions to me before she went to bed. If you want to donate right now, you can PayPal money to psychesmaia at yahoo dot com the labor-intensive way. Otherwise I'll edit this post and all others to show the button when λ wakes up in three or four hours.

Comments

Posted by: Sarah (ultraviolet730)
Posted at: January 9th, 2010 10:53 am (UTC)
La belle fleur made by Aline(writes)

This is so poignant for me. I'm the aunt in the situation, though not anything as precarious as Tricia's. But it all strikes very close to home for me. Tricia is a very special woman, and this is a beautiful thing you're doing for her. Bless you and her! I'll check back in during the day.

Posted by: Nathaniel Wolfthorn (ganimede)
Posted at: January 9th, 2010 03:45 pm (UTC)

I think this is a great start.

Notepad is so unforgiving with its stark scary whiteness.

Posted by: Julie (geekjul)
Posted at: January 9th, 2010 04:30 pm (UTC)

I have, in some way that beggars all logic, managed to get through twenty-eight years of my life without losing anyone I love to an unfair death. A few relatives I love have died, but they died of old age, basically, each of them well past eighty. It isn't the same when it's someone like Tricia. It isn't the same when it's something like this.

I was in the same boat when I was 28 and my brother died. So different than when my grandparents died. And different than when a school friend died. I know what you mean. Definitely not the same.

Posted by: Underwear Ninja (chavvah)
Posted at: January 9th, 2010 05:27 pm (UTC)
effete british superhero

No one in my family has died of old age, ever. And you're right, it does feel unfair.

I'm hoping my mother will be the first one to break the trend.

Posted by: Michael (ftmichael)
Posted at: January 9th, 2010 06:42 pm (UTC)
hug

I think this is a great start, and you're right that pacing yourself is important in a 'thon; I think if you started off with something Epic™, it would just put more unnecessary pressure on you for the following posts. The 'eep' just illustrates how brave you're being in doing this, and what a wonderful thing it is. You are a good person for anyone to have in their corner, and I'm glad Tricia and her family have got you. *hugs*

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