Break-It-Down

Today I had one of those days.

I have only had these days a few times in my life. I have always had a tendency to be dramatic, but for many years now I have been able to laugh off my inclinations to make a scene. Today was different.

I am in a pretty major grieving process right now. Planning to move to Europe, let go of my business for the most part, leaving my house (not so important, but moving and selling your furniture involves letting go), and, oh ya, my Dad is dying.

Today he has an appointment to asses if he should now have chemo after two surgeries, and two bouts of radiation. Luckily the doctors at Princess Margaret Hospital in Toronto are incredible and want him to have as much quality of life as possible. Before I went on my last trip (14 days in the UK - been home for 4), I asked the doctor how long he has to live. It has taken me a few months to get up the courage to ask that question. They told me he has months, not years.

My Dad had not asked the question, but when I came back from the UK he started to tell me that he found another lump on his neck and was trying to break it to me gently that this may be worse than we thought. I feel like I have been a bit ahead of him in terms of accepting what is coming. I can't imagine what it must be like for him. He said to me then that he knows he is dying, it is just a matter of when.

I told him then that I had asked the question he wanted to know. The 'how long do I have to live' question. He said he was ready to hear the answer, but we were in the hospital lobby and it wasn't an appropriate time for the conversation. That was on Friday.

Today we had the conversation while waiting for the doctor to come and see us. He said he was feeling a bit depressed and really wanted to know so I told him just what they told me. He said well if we are only thinking short term then what is the point of having chemo at all.

My response was - well it is up to you what you want to invest your energy into. Up until now you have been putting your faith in the medical system and it has taken you this far. If you decide you will live another 6 years on an anti-cancer diet then you will. If you decide you will live till spring so be it. It is just up to you if you want to live in this body with this pain.

So all that was challenging. I asked the doctor while I was there if he thought the mark on my face was skin cancer (I have a spot on my face that has been there a while) and he referred me to a dermatologist. I wanted him to refer me to a psychologist cause today was a bad day.

After my Dad left I went into the chapel in the hospital. I really wanted to crawl under a chair and cry there for a long time. The chapel is open 24 hours (if I am ever homeless I will know where to go - I bet every hospital has one!). The Muslims kept coming in to do their sunset prayers though so it was hard to blubber as I wanted to. I sat there for about an hour and cried into my kleenex - then I left and came home.

At home I sent some emails for work and then cried some more. Then I had a peanut butter sandwich. Then my tenant downstairs pushed me over the edge of sanity into a near nervous breakdown state, and the day officially became bad.

Pam is a 72 year old actress. She was a hippy in the 60's and was experimented on by psychiatrists with LSD. She is a huge pain in the ass. She invited me downstairs for dinner and gave me half of a rent cheque. Then she proceeded to go on about all of the things that are unsafe about the house. Then she asked me 'what do you think you have learned from this situation' and do you think you will ever purchase a home again. I told her I wasn't interested in discussing that and that I am capable of judging myself enough for this situation and don't need to go over it again with her. Then I said thank you for the food, got up from the table and started to scream, threw the rent cheque on the floor, slammed the door open, screamed in the back yard, slammed the upstairs door open, then slammed it shut and went to the third floor where I lay down on the floor and cried. Luckily I live in Parkdale and this is acceptable behaviour for this neighbourhood so the police did not come.

Then I called my Mom and told her that it is unacceptable that she is not calling me or coming to help me because I can not do this on my own. I am overwhelmed. I felt that I couldn't get up off the floor. She was telling me about how everyone is depending on her for her business because she is the only licensed driver. That they have to get these jobs done before the weather sets in, that they need to finish them to get paid, blah blah blah. I said that I don't think they have learned anything. My step father has had 3 or 4 heart attacks in the past year. My Dad is reaching for every moment he can have with me because he doesn't have many moments left. Yet my Mom's priority is still money. I really believe this society is sick. I believe that the cancer and heart attack epidemics come from a lack of joy and love and family and laughter. So I lay on the floor covered in tears and snot judging my Mom for not having the right priorities and being happy.

I got up and looked at myself in the mirror. I'm ok. I have faith that this is about making room in my life for more love. I will not spend the rest of my life in the pursuit of something that will not love me back. And I will do my best not to judge my Mom or anyone else for their priorities.

I am off the floor now and writing on my computer. It is the first thing I thought of to do when I got my wits about me. Thank God for my computer and my invisible audience.

So my nervous breakdown was just a little one. I apologized to Pam even though I am still angry with her and her condescension. It is not worth my energy though. I am not going to change her. Now she has another story for her wine o monologues.

On the plus side - after breaking up with Stefano (who will now be referred to as 'the skinny Italian who broke my heart') I decided to start getting serious about finding a husband and go all out on-line. I have smiled at, poked, winked at and messaged about 70 guys in the last four days. One quickly responded from a site called millionairematch.com . He is 32 from Venezuela and currently living in Spain.

His profile reads as follows: i am very sesitive man, i like very mouch dance salsa.

He sounds like the perfect man for me.

He barely speaks English, lives in Spain where he teaches Salsa full time, umm and he has several photos of himself on facebook with no shirt on, in some of them he is exiting the water and covered in little drops, in one of them he has a fan in front of his penis. He has offered to help me get settled in Barcelona, did I mention that I have decided to move there now that the skinny Italian who broke my heart is no longer in the picture? Ok - so he is still in the picture, but now the picture looks like this:

I go to Barcelona in February to start looking for an apartment and to meet some more people in the dance community. My new Latin lover comes to 'help me get settled' and I bring him out to meet the skinny Italian who broke my heart (who is still my friend) and his posse at the beach or some other place where my new Latin lover can take off most of his clothing. The skinny Italian becomes jealous. I have Latin love.

My Latin lover (who's name ends in the letter O not by coincidence I am guessing) and I spoke on msn last night with a webcam. He had no shirt on. He confessed that he is not rich but is looking for a woman with whom he can start a family. I don't know if I want to have his children, but we can certainly practice making some. . .

Now those with whom I have been friends for some time would warn me against this situation as it is not the first time I have fallen for a man with much meat and little else. I once dated a Cuban man who's naked photos are somewhere on the Internet (they should be on a greeting card). He would say things to me like 'Iiii am a shark and jou are a but-ter-fly and ve can nevah have a relationship. The shark will destroy the butterfly.' He would say this as he attempted to escape from my apartment while I crawled after him begging for round three. Yes it was pathetic. Thank goodness he went back to his girlfriend. It would never have worked out. He shoveled pigs in a meat freezer for God's sake, (but I may have married him anyway) this is why I can never go to Cuba (or Jamaica, or Brazil . . .)

My Latin lover is looking for a sugar mama and I am looking to make the skinny Italian who broke my heart jealous. I am also looking for a distraction from the heaviness of my life at the moment. So I will continue to poke, flirt, smile and IM for the time being. . . . and practice my Salsa.