by Alinta Thornton

About writing, malignant glioblastomas and other stuff.

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June 2004

	Contact me: athornto at zip.com.au

Tuesday 1 June 2004

Writing

I have chopped a huge section out of Love in the Land of Words. It was actually pretty easy to do.. but now I have to sew up the wound, and that's not as easy as it seems.

Life in the land of cancer

Mum is planning to put an ad into the local paper explaining what Suzuki method is. She thinks this will convert everyone who reads it to the whole concept of Suzuki.

A whole layer of conceptual and critical thinking has been peeled away. Her natural optimism and generosity no longer has its previously helpful layer of pragmatic realism.

The ad would cost $1500, which she can't really afford to splurge, though I guess if you thought it would have that kind of effect it would be worth it. But of course, it won't.

Last week she organised her funeral, in a church near her home where she's taught for many years. There's an orchestra there which largely exists because of her influence and teaching, and the minister is a friend. She's not religious, in fact believes that when you die, that's it, lights out. But this church is low key and she feels very comfortable with it.

Saturday 6 June

Collaborations.. of a sort

Haha..The joke's on me.

In week 4 of Clarion, I presented a story called Rockfall, in which colonists land on a planet inhabited by plant-aliens, told from the aliens point of view. It was, shall we say, badly received and I decided to put the story away.

However, I had already submitted it to an anthology called The Between Space, where the deal was that another author rewrote it, and in turn, I rewrote her story. The idea was to give up control, to surrender your work to someone else for them to do whatever they want with.

I received my copy of this august publication the other day. With excitement I turned to see what Misbah (the other author) did with Rockfall. It took me several readings to see what she'd done. She just sliced out a few words at the beginning of some of the lines in my story and set them out as poetry. Here's a sample:

She swam gracefully towards him
She kept a polite distance; too close
They swam through the ground to the edge of the world
What was their purpose?
Despite herself, sap seeped out of her
He made the rocks fall around the world
He swayed with pleasure
She bowed in agreement
They move like people.

So this now makes even less sense than it did before. For a start, the various "he's" aren't the same being. There's no way to know they are on a different planet.

Anyway, it's kinda cool if you don't care too much about meaning in a post moderny kind of way. And who really cares if my story survived at all since it stank so much. <shrugs>

At the time, I had doubts that the story made sense, given it was written so quickly and was attempting something quite difficult. So I added in a note to Misbah at the end which read "in case you don't read science fiction, here is an explanation". So Misbah has called her poem: "You dont' read science fiction". Yeah, thanks.

My rewriting of her story is there and I am reasonably happy with it...but they have PRINTED THE ENTIRE STORY IN CAPS. Even I can't focus on reading it, let alone someone who didn't write it.

The only story in the entire publication that isn't in caps is, get this, by the editor. Oh, Gerald, you wanted people to actually read yours? Funny that.

Here is a sample of the editor's piece:

"Writing is all about dictatorship, its [sic] all about dictating. Each word is presented as an integral piece in holding together an attempted hermitic system, which is in reality a conjugation tube built to ferry intent across the space between author and recipient. Intent which is packaged as a hypodermic popagule and communicated ballistically - triggered off [sic] by the suggestion of a chink or a potential for an inroad, of a spot to drive a wedge in and wet it."

Got that? I looked up popagule, thinking whoah, what is that? It isn't a word. Propagule is though, which means: any structure having the capacity to give rise to a new plant, such as a seed or spore.

I'm trying to picture driving a wedge into a suggestion of a chink and wetting it, I mean I'm really trying hard. But failing.

All up, quite a hilarious and disappointing project. Er.. collaboration anyone?

Life in the land of cancer

Peter MacNamara died the other day. He had the same disease my mum has, glioblastoma multiforme, and survived two years after diagnosis. I'm not sure whether he had the same type as mum, she has the most aggressive kind, Grade 4. Anyway it was a sad day for SF, as he was a very influential and respected figure.

Flamenco happiness

Tony and I went to see Diana Reyes' troupe performing flamenco last night. The dancing was good, not brilliant, but good. On the other hand, the musicians were amazing, especially Antonio Solio, the singer. He had one of those rough, raw voices, full of power and passion. He carried the entire show, transported me to some other place. A couple of numbers were almost entirely him, one where he and the two guitarists stamped canes to form the rhythm and Antonio sang solo, and the end number where they all stamped and clapped, and he stood in the middle doing a Spanish version of scat singing.

It was fabulous! I would so love to learn how to sing like that, but I think it's not for women, you never hear women singing flamenco. I might investigate and see what the story is.

Afterwards we ate tapas in Glebe, where the food is good but the noise is simply unbelievable. Tony asked me, do you think there is a prescribed limit for noise in restaurants? If there is, they certainly exceeded it. It was nearly as loud as sitting in the Sydney Opera House orchestra pit playing the Ride of the Valkyries.

Writing

I have cut 2000 words from Love in the Land of Words, thanks to the helpful suggestions of Thorbies. I cut a dream sequence, an entire section where she goes to Melbourne, and various places which were repetitive or not needed to advance the plot. Not too painful, though there's a para or two in the cut sections I'd love to keep somehow, and I suspect I won't be able to.

Now I need to expand the end, which I don't expect will be too difficult. What I am finding hard is to find something through which I can show Mika's degradation in the middle section, without straying into porn. Thorbies told me, and they are right, that I have told this and not shown it enough.

But! How do you show her degradation without also showing things that stray into X-rated? I mean it's easy to come up with a dozen things he might do to her, but all of them would immediately get the story bounced from any market I'd want the story to appear in. It's a challenge.

So my word count shows 500 words, they are 500 new ones I guess, but I also cut 2500, so should I say -2000? Word counts. Pah.

I received proofs from Orb for The Healing Soup of Chu-Chou Village, and I'm pleased with how it looks. Rereading the story, I realised I had used the standard plotline, you know: hero with problem, tries to solve problem fails, tries again fails, tries and precipitates crisis, resolution, coda. I didn't actually plan it that way, so that is cool.

Radical thought: use plot tricks on purpose in future? Like a real writer? Oh hang on, I am a real...

Never mind.

Superluminal needs women!

An interesting note to Eidolist today from Nigel Read, editor of Superluminal:

"I have, so far, accepted 8 stories for Superluminal 1...A bit distressing, and unexpected, is that I haven't received one single submission so far from a female writer. C'mon, you lot! Don't let inaction give credence to the old clanger that women can't write science fiction. Send me your subs!"

Thinking about whether I have any SF stories to send...most of mine are horror or fantasy or slipstream.

Love in the Land of Words is SF. They do say "cross genre", but did they mean SF/porn? Hmm. There's also Fifteen to Life, which isn't finished either. Have to think about that.

Tuesday 8 June

Yesterday was one of the worst days of my life. I found a lump in my breast last week and went to have what I thought was a routine mammogram. It wasn't all that scary, I thought it was just a fibrous cyst because it wasn't hard in texture.

During the test the ultrasound technician's face told me it wasn't routine, I looked at the screen and saw for myself the lump was cancerous. A black spot in the right breast. I waited a tense hour, then came back to pick up the screens and report. I walked back to my car, willing myself not to open it, to give myself another five minutes where I didn't know.

Opening it, I saw the words "highly suspicious of malignant tumour", and I know from dealing with mum's brain cancer that this is a firm diagnosis, as firm as you can get without actually taking the tumour out of your body.

I phoned Tony, but he was in a meeting, so I phoned Anne, who came straight over in a taxi, and like a dummy phoned my sister. She was 36 weeks pregnant. I say was, because two hours afterwards she went into labour. I guess the baby would have been premature anyway, it turned out to be a posterior birth, but... who knows. Luckily all went well with her and the baby is fine too, but I didn't know that until 3am last night.

I went straight back to the doctor yesterday with Tony and she confirmed the diagnosis. I have a 2cm lump and possibly a node also is involved, though that is less certain as it's only slightly enlarged. I will have a biopsy on Thursday and by Tuesday I'll know how aggressive the cancer is.

In cancer language, this means the difference between total cure and death. A mildly aggressive cancer is one where the cells haven't changed much, an aggressive one is where they have mutated fast. Aggressive ones spread quicker and are much harder to get rid of.

I'm hoping I don't follow in mum's footsteps there.

My lovely GP has chosen a great doctor, one to whom other doctors go when they have cancer themselves, so I'm pretty happy with that.

She says that there's a much higher rate of remission when you hit it up front with the lot, radiotherapy, chemo, everything. So I will at the least have surgery, then treatments, for a minimum of six months.

I am totally gobsmacked about this. I cannot understand why all of this has to happen at once!

The good news is I found it early (check your breasts, girls!!) and it's a very treatable cancer.

I've named the cancer Linda (as in Linda the Lump). Linda is an unwanted houseguest and is going to have to leave soon.

Meanwhile, I have a new nephew, Jamie, and my sister and the baby are both doing well. Thank God for that! Also mum will get to see her new grandson, she's going this weekend to see him, and that's wonderful.

All up yesterday was a pretty stressful day.

How to talk to me

Just like always. Feel free to mention my cancer, or not, as you prefer. "It sucks, how are you, how is Linda the Lump," are good things to say. Understand if I am crabby or not talkative.

Still invite me places and ask me to do things, I will let you know if I can't. It's okay to joke about it. Above all don't do the "I don't want to worry you" thing. I hate being patronised. Let me decide if I want to be worried or not.

If you feel so inclined, offer to help, though at this point there's nothing to do. If I need something I will certainly feel I can ask you later on. I've noticed from mum's cancer it tends to be the little things that help the most, driving her somewhere, taking something to someplace, picking something up, that kind of thing. It takes a load off your mind.

So if I do ask you to do something like that, don't feel it's something small that doesn't matter to me; it's something small that matters a lot.

Coming hither

Someone told me (no names) that the picture on my home page is a "come hither" look. Not actually what I was aiming for.. I was aiming for something that didn't make me look like a big fat lump. <Grin>

So I'm looking for feedback.. does it look "come hither" to you?

Email me: athornto AT zip.com.au

Thursday 9 June

Coming hither

Apparently, it's true: others confirm I have a come hither look in the photo I had here (now on the left). Well all I can say is, if that's all it takes, where have all the drooling guys been all these years? Snort.

Anyway, it's a new photo now, and if that's come hither I will have to just give up.

Linda: breaking the news

On Tuesday I felt drained and horrible, mostly from the emotional shock I think.

After learning from mum's experience, I knew to make sure most of my friends found out from someone else. It meant I didn't have to deliver the news over and over, and they had time to think how they wanted to react, and I didn't have to deal with shock over and over either. I only told my family and one close friend myself. For my other friends, I asked someone to phone or email them. It worked out well for me, and I hope it was okay for them.

But at work it had to be me, so I did it at the end of our staff meeting. My boss I told personally, plus one other person, so I expect a few people already knew. It was harder than I thought. I found myself wanting to cry as I said it.

I'm not delivering as big a bombshell as mum did, since breast cancer is not often fatal, and brain cancer of her variety always is. But it's still big news to take in.

There was a silence, and I skittered out to the kitchen, where several people followed me to hear details and deliver big hugs.

Yesterday I worked, I went to see a client and was bubbly, friendly etc and it took a huge amount of energy.

My MD Susan has broken her ankle and is hobbling around on crutches, and my boss Rosemary is under the weather as well, so we are the walking wounded right now.

Biopsy

This morning I had the biopsy and it was horrible. At breakfast I had this strong urge to stay in bed, so that it could stay something abstract, that it wouldn't really be happening. I told Tony and he said he had the same instinct.

I can totally get now why people don't go to get treatment, and even why women don't check their breasts. It's something that you have to experience to understand. My whole body is crying out, "don't go to the hospital, they'll do stuff that hurts, they will want to do more stuff that hurts. Don't go!" My mind knows that logically that is stupid, that in the end it would hurt more, but we are at base animals, and the instinct to avoid pain is very strong.

They cut open my breast (just a nick, or so they said; I haven't seen it yet, it's bandaged up). Then they put in a local anaesthetic, which stung a bit, and then inserted a whopping huge needle, about the thickness of the inside of a biro, which doesn't sound much but imagine it going into a sensitive part of your body and suddenly you'll realise it's huge.

The ultrasound technician Robyn thought it was hilarious that I'd named my lump. At first, when I said, hey there's Linda on your screen, she went off to check my name. I said no, that's Linda the lump, and she laughed. When the doctor came in she said, take a look at Linda the lump, and he was astounded. What, no one names their cancer? Surely I'm not that weird. Oh wait...

The doctor "Call me Andrew", stuck the bloody great needle in four times in different places. The first three were fairly okay, uncomfortable but fine. But the last one hurt like buggery. Andrew couldn't understand why as it was right near one that hadn't hurt. He worried he'd punctured my lungs, or at least I assume so because he asked me to take big breaths and tell him if it hurt, but he hadn't.

I slept for two hours and took some panadeine, and now it's just a dull throbbing. Now I have to wait until Tuesday to find out the results. Possibly the longest five days in my life.

The doctor confirmed that the appearance of Linda on the ultrasound was definitely cancerous as far as he could see, so I'm not expecting any miraculous turnaround.

Reality hits

Yesterday I still had an air of everything is normal.. it was a bit abstract. Today I can't be there any more. It's horribly real. Walking out of there was very different from walking in. I was crying a little from the pain, since the panadeine take a while to kick in. I was also feeling very vulnerable. I'm sick, and there's no way to not be sick unless I go through a lot more unpleasantness.

84% of people with breast cancer are still alive after five years. I am hoping that I will be one of the lucky ones. They are pretty good odds, but it's awful even having to think about it.

Found myself wondering if all the stress I've had in the last few months has contributed to this. Then wondering if.. should I have not done this, done that.. then I remember again that 18 year olds get breast cancer, it's not helpful to think this way. Just accept it and move on with addressing it.

Support

Tony was lovely, he came with me and held my hand though wasn't allowed in during the procedure, because apparently men tend to faint dead away, two out of three of them do it seems.

A friend came for lunch bearing goodies for us to eat, it's great to see her. She's one of those friends that I really value, I think of her as a good close friend and she and her husband have been friends of ours for over 20 years. Yet we don't see them for months at a time. That has to change.

I've had great messages and calls from people wishing me well, and I really appreciate it. It's good to know how much support and caring there is for me now.

Positivity

I am positive in my belief that I will beat Linda, move her out and send her packing. However, I am not necessarily going to be in a positive mood. In fact I often won't be. I own the right to feel like crap about this, and I defy anyone to deal with a major life-threatening disease like this and to remain free of negative emotions.

So.. yes, I'm being positive about beating this. But no, I'm not going to pretend to be feeling cheerful for other people's sake. And if you ask me to, I'll feel like punching your lights out.

Wednesday 16 June

What a week this has been. One friend helped me enormously by telling me how his wife had had cancer several years ago, and now it was something they'd gone through in the past, they were out the other side. Suddenly I could picture a time without cancer, when I'm well again. All I have to do is endure a bunch of crap in the meantime.

Two or three friends have been enormously supportive, calling often and visiting. It's amazing how much better that really does make me feel. I've had lots of good wishes as well, and presents left on my doorstep. My office has been wonderful, and I am mighty glad I work where I do.

It's not as though I haven't contributed to the office in many ways over the last few years, but many workplaces would be far less accommodating and kind than this one.

Yesterday I expected to get my biopsy results but they didn't arrive, so I had to spend another night in anxiety. They hadn't been typed up apparently. The deadline they feel is to get the thing to the doctor in time for my appointment today, not to give to me as soon as possible to put me out of my misery. Hospitals, I will no doubt be regularly facing, are geared to support the medical staff first, not patients, even a top notch one like the one I'll be attending.

I've started meditating, for the first time in years. I do meditate actually but not in any regular organised way. I have a lovely tape that Emma gave me and I'm finding it remarkably easy to slip into a trance. It's so refreshing.

Writing

Naturally I haven't done much writing.

The gang was all off in Melbourne at Continuum last weekend, which I hadn't planned to attend in any case but I'm glad I didn't go. I missed everyone terribly but I had lots of sleep and I needed it.

Chris arrived last night bearing a huge get well card signed by everyone who he could lay his hands on. A number of them commented on how strong I am. Hmm. I'm feeling weak and vulnerable right now.. I'm not sure about strength. I want to be taken care of for a while, I don't want to have to be strong. Though I think what they meant was, you are going to make it through this. Ah well. Strong, weak, whatever. Some days I am strong other days I'm a blubbering heap of jelly.

Aunty Alinta

I got a lovely pic of my new nephew Jamie today, wearing a hat to protect him from the sunlamp which I think they use to treat jaundice. Anyway here is the first pic.. I am a proud Aunty.

Thursday 17 June

I saw my surgeon last night, and found out that I have Grade 3 cancer. This means it's the most aggressive kind, that spreads quickly and mutates fast.

On the good news front I have caught it relatively early at Stage 2, which is (on the present information) before it has spread into the rest of my body. It's spread to the lymph nodes but as far as I know nowhere else.

The stages and grades are confusing, but a basic (not all that accurate) analogy is that the stage tells you how far along you are, eg in a journey from Sydney to Melbourne I am at Canberra. The Grade tells you how fast it is going, and I am in a Maserati.

Because it is stage 2, I will not have to have a mastectomy (yippee). Next week or the week after they'll operate to remove Linda the lump and her little friends in my lymph nodes. I'll take 3-4 weeks off work to recover from this delightful occurence. Then several weeks after that I have radiotherapy and chemotherapy, in which order I don't know yet.

The prognosis is that after 10 years, 70-80% of people are still alive (but not necessarily cancer free). Next week I'm having more tests to see whether they can find evidence of any cancer elsewhere in my body, oh joy.

Thank you everyone for your messages and the card, it may not seem like you're doing much to you, but I can tell you your emails, calls and messages are very much appreciated, keep them coming. More about what to say to me in the box on the left.

I haven't written a single word of fiction this week. Not a word.

Wednesday 23 June

Here's a lovely pic of mum and me at the concert on Sunday.

Still waiting

I'm still waiting to find out when my operation will be and it's making me kinda tense, as you might expect. Another very obvious side effect of the strain I'm under is that I'm far less tolerant. I have noticed myself getting snappy with people, but more than that I am less willing to go meet people half way, to understand and cater to their quirks and preferences, in short I am getting more selfish.

When I think about reversing this I just want to shrivel up and stay in my room by myself, because it all takes so much energy and I don't have it to spare.

So.. if you can.. please try to meet me more than half way. I will try to pay you all back when I'm better, either in plum dumplings, or lifts, or reading your story, or editing something for you, or listening for hours to your woes, in short whatever kindnesses I can bestow.

Come hitherness

Okay I now have ten votes on the come hither pic (see above on the left), and all ten have voted yes, it's come hither, (8 men and 2 women). So I must concede that it is. If only I'd known this before, I might've used it to more effect!

I've now had two comments that the new photo is no good either, (a) it reminds one person of Mickey Mouse because of the wire screen sticking up behind me, and (b) the colour is all wrong and makes my face look blotchy, which I assure you it actually isn't.

So, a third photo coming up. Sigh. Make mental note: don't give come hither look. No blotchiness (different lighting?). No objects with Mickey Mouse-like potential in vicinity.

Tricky. Maybe I should just take all the photos away.

Writing

I received my copy of Orb 6 today, it looks wonderful and of course the more so because my story The Healing Soup of Chu-Chou Village is in it. <grin>

There are several Thorby stories in it (Nathan Burrage, Cat Sparks, Rob Hood and me). There are several Clarionborg stories in it (Cat Sparks, James Cain, Kim Westwood and me). Ah, the reflected glory! And of course the editorial from Sarah Endacott is a typical marvel of depth and sinewy prose.

And, I think (I think) I have cracked Love in the Land of Words, at last. I came up with a nicely gruesome ending, fitting to the story. I cracked it when I realised it's kind of a modern version of Madame Bovary.

The similarity is not so much in the specifics of the story (M Bovary goes bad due to her shopaholic ways). It's more in the downward trajectory of obsession (in this case, an obssessive and all-consuming relationship). It's about the choices people make in the grip of an obsession that seem sensible and logical at the time but really are appallingly bad, leading to an inexorable decline and degradation.

After rereading it this morning I found myself singing, "I'm just an evil woman, with evil on her mind..." a la Cliff Richard. Hehe.

I really am a barrel of laughs. Two stories of mine had relatively uplifting endings (noble sacrifice for the greater good; woman finds relief from her guilt). All the others are very dark. As Tony said today, you can take the girl out of Transylvannia...

Yes, on my dad's side, his mum's family came from Translyvannia, though they are ethnically Hungarian, since that part of the world used to belong to Hungary.

And no (*checks teeth*), no relation, as far as I know.

Concert

The 25th silver anniversary concert of the Suzuki Violin School in Adelaide last Sunday was a lovely occasion. The other teachers in her school organised the whole thing for mum and rehearsed the students.

Mum, Tony and I went to have lunch while they rehearsed, then came back to find her mobbed by kids and parents wanting to hug her. Quite a few ex-students came to play, some who are professional players or teachers, including a few of my old students from the first few years. (Mum and I started up Suzuki violin in SA together in 1979). Boy did that make me feel ancient.

I was 17 when I started teaching then and 20 when I left for Sydney. Those students were only 11ish when I left, so now that I'm 42, they are 31ish, grown up, married and divorced, kids, the lot. In my mind they are still kids, it's quite disconcerting. Wonderful to hear them play so beautifully.

The ABC (our national public broadcaster) filmed the concert and will play a segment on mum on a local current affairs show (Stateline in South Australia only, either this Friday or next).

The hall looked great, with silver helium balloons attached to the violins, everyone dressed in silver and diamonds. Many of the girls (including mum and me) wore tiaras, the boys silver hats, and most people had some item of silver clothing, ranging from alien outfits to silver fur jackets.

I compered, looking a little silly in my silver top, tiara, big "diamond" earrings and necklace, but fitting right into the swing of things.

A highlight was the item where some of the advanced and ex-students played a piece by the Secret Garden as a surprise for mum. She loves Secret Garden and she broke into (happy) sobs, so all of us on stage had to look determinedly elsewhere lest we follow suit.

The dead fish trick

I used my "dead fish" trick, something a performer taught me years ago. If you are in danger of giggling during a performance, or crying, I think of a dead slimy fish. It's not funny, and sobers me up instantly. But neither is it sad, so I stop crying. It's just nothing. If I'm having trouble, I focus on the details of the fish, its buggy dead eyes, its slimy scales, the wet surface it's lying on. And there I am, sober, neither laughing nor crying.

Meryl Streep moment

The end of the concert was like some Hollywood movie starring Meryl Streep (as Maxine of course), when mum was presented with a big bunch of roses and the whole audience and all the kids on stage rose to their feet and applauded her. She was sitting at the front of the second bank of seats, so the audience was facing her - the effect from the stage was of concentric circles with mum at the centre.

It was a very emotional moment for everyone, caught on tape by the ABC guys.

Thursday 24 June

Going hence

My new photo appears at the top of this page, and it is here to stay. I don't think it's come hither (though I didn't think the other was either, so what do I know). My skin isn't blotchy and there are no Mickey Mouse ears (though there is a light in the background). So there it is.

Pic at concert

Check out the nice pic of mum and me at the silver anniversary concert on Sunday.

Operation is confirmed

My operation is happening next week on Wednesday, and when he rang to tell me the surgeon also said they found cancer in the lymph node they biopsied last week, so that is a major piece of bad news. In case you're wondering, the lymph nodes drain fluids from your organs then clean it and recirculate them into your blood, so any cancer cells there can travel to any place in your body.

This means my treatment will include removing all the lymph nodes under my arm, which is painful and may mean I can't use my arm for a while.

I'll be in hospital a week, and then at home for a few weeks, I'll have to see how well I recover.

Road rage

This morning I meditated before work and felt all warm and tingly and peaceful. I drove in along a street near the office which I call "Skittle Alley", because of all the stupid stuff people do there. On any given day there is an average of four or five near incidents and I treat it as a Mario Bros game or something where you have to dodge things.

Yesterday for example there were:

• two drunks crossing the roundabout near the pub
• one car unsure where to go driving at 5k
• two cars going down the middle of the street with no room for another one to pass
• two elderly women walking very slowly across the road chatting to each other and not looking at the traffic once
• one large truck parked so everyone had to dodge around it
• one guy opening his car door into the oncoming traffic
• fifteen or so guys going to the mosque via the middle of the road, chatting to each other in the right lane.

That is a fairly busy day but not all that unusual.

So as you can imagine I keep my eye on everything, all the cars and people I can see plus all side streets. Even front doors can suddenly open and people spill quickly onto the road. If there are people I watch carefully in case they jump out in front of me which they regularly do.

I was driving across an intersection this morning and there was a blond man in his late twenties with a skateboard under his arm on the footpath. I started to cross the intersection and as I did he stepped out in front of me and just continued blithely across the road.

By this I mean he looked at me, saw me and took no notice, just kept going. I braked, narrowly avoiding running him over. Especially stupid when you consider that braking there was difficult. I had to make sure my car was clear of the intersection as there were cars coming along that road.

When you do stop for people, mostly they smile in a mildly embarrassed way or wave. This guy decided to scream at me: "you stupid F**king C**t!" Charming. So I gave him the bird and drove away.

He hopped on his skateboard and followed me down the centre of the street (thus proving he is a total idiot: the road isn't the place for skateboarding, I'm pretty sure that's illegal). I was stopped waiting to cross the next intersection and he knocked on my window. I rolled it down and the following conversation took place.

Skateboard idiot: you f**ing c**t, you're supposed to give way

Me: I did. You'll notice you are still alive.

SI: Pedestrians have right of way you f**ing slut!

Me: No, actually, roads are for cars, you were jaywalking. You were lucky I was watching and didn't kill you.

SI (Shouting): Pedestrians have f**cking right of way!

Me (shouting back): Only so that I don't f**ing run you over you great idiot. You're not supposed to just step out and expect the traffic to stop for you!

SI: You should f**ing watch where you're f**ing going (and much more ranting to this effect).

I stopped replying and eventually he started to walk away, but then veered back and raised his skateboard in the air. Next I heard a huge thump on the back of my car. That made me hopping mad and I got out. I walked over to him and basically lost it.

Dear reader, a furious Hungarian chick (even if only half-Hungarian) is not something to trifle with.

I walked up to him yelling, "How dare you, get your filthy hands off my car you j**k, that's illegal, I'll call the cops on you. They'll arrest you for jaywalking and for damaging my property. I'm going to go and get my phone, the cops are only around the corner."

He backed away and yelled, "You're a f**ing loony," and I said "Yeah that's right, run away. Why don't you come over here, and I'll punch your nose in, see you how you like that." Hoping desperately he wouldn't take me up on it.

Luckily he saw sense (finally) and ran off. I was left shaking and furious.

Reader, I would just like to tell you that losing my temper this badly happens extremely rarely. However I am really not very tolerant right now as I explained yesterday, and this guy SMASHED MY CAR.

All good excuses for my bad behaviour. :-)

Anyway it was very satisfying screaming at him, I think I got some residual anger out of my system because afterwards I felt quite good. Hmm, perhaps he did me a favour after all? Tony remarked, my meditation probably helped me to scream at him calmly. Hehe.

After that I looked at my car and somehow, miraculously, it was completely unmarked. I kept looking at it thinking I was seeing things, but no, there was no mark. How can you smash a skateboard into a car and leave no mark? Weird.

Hope he isn't there tomorrow!

Friday 25 June

Road rage II: Evil raging feminist strikes back

There is in fact a dent in the back of my car. (See yesterday's post if this means nothing to you).

I was so blinded by adrenalin I didn't see it. It's about 2 inches by 2, and quite deep. Since I drive a Peugot (named Beatrice, in case you wanted to know), it will cost at least $1000 to fix. I know this because everything on my Peugot costs at least $1000 to fix.

What strikes me today about the incident is this. The guy made an assessment about me, then decided it would be fine to threaten me and smash my car, that I was unlikely to fight back. Had I been a burly guy he would probably have just walked away.

When I got out of my car and made to call the police, even threatening to punch him (thank God he didn't call me on that one! What on earth was I thinking??), he backed off... clearly he thought he was going to just get away with it, and got a shock when I showed no fear. Oh my God, a woman who is not afraid, who is willing to confront.

What is it about some guys that they think it's okay to just threaten and bully women? Yeah, I know, I threatened and bullied him back, and I ain't sorry. Well not much. He'll think twice before doing it again. Mwahahaha.

On the other hand, I also realised something else. I made the same assessment. It's all instinctive. Had it been night, or had there been no witnesses I would have just driven off. There were about 6 people watching all of this, including one who stopped his car in the middle of the road and got out to see if I was ok, some residents who came out of their houses and some people in Billy Hydes on the corner - yes I know, that Billy Hydes!

He was a good five inches taller than me, muscly, young, with a weapon in his hand he had already demonstrated he was willing to wield with considerable force (his skateboard).

I think that daylight and the presence of witnesses evened things up and made it possible for me to challenge him.

After he walked off, all the witnesses were on my side, asking "Are you all right? Is there any damage?"

Had our sexes been reversed, and a man in the car threatened to punch a skateboard wielding woman, I doubt whether I would have received that kind of support.

Interesting cultural stuff.

Sigh. Really have to make myself be more tolerant even in this state of utter confusion, tension and dread. How, I don't know.

Ommmmmmm.

Writing

I have completed another draft of Love in the Land of Words for Thorbies this weekend. I hope it's on the right track now because I won't get much time to work on it in the next few weeks, unless miraculously I can type easily and am not asleep the whole time.

In which case I won't mind convalescing nearly so much.

I like the new ending a lot, it still makes me chuckle in an evil kind of way, but this morning I had qualms about the credibility of her not being found out by the police. Hmm. Have to think about that.

Bug me not!

This is a VERY cool site. If you don't want to give a bunch of sites info about yourself, use this site to bypass registration. They give you passwords you can use to get into the site without identifying yourself.

There's also a cool mail program called Mailinator. If you need to give an email, sometimes you know you'll end up on their spam list. But you want at least one message from that person or site.

You don't need to sign up. You just make up an address out of your head, anything you want up to 15 characters before the @ sign.

Later, go to the Mailinator site and check it. Mailinator accounts are created when mail arrives for them. No signup, no personal information.

What's the catch? The messages are automatically deleted after a few hours. And it is totally insecure, anyone can read your mail if they guess the address.

Sunday 27 June

Thorbies

How hilarious, I did a whole lot of work yesterday on Land of Words after sending it to everyone, and all the ideas I had were roundly rejected. No, the story as I sent it is largely perfect, a few small changes and it is done.

Damn. I enjoyed the robot scene, but I take everyone's point that it doesn't work. Nathan, the Plot King, came up with a great idea for how Peter should die to avoid the whole cops investigating problem that was so bugging me. He is so good at plot and I'm insanely jealous how easily it comes to him.

Everyone signed my little book with the silver pen, awwww. Nathan's house is just exactly as I expected, organised, attractively furnished and cool. I especially enjoyed the lights with builtin Klingon batliffs, if that's how you spell them. His daughter Liana arrived for show and tell and was promptly admired by all.

I really want to finish Land of Words before I go into hospital, so I can submit it and have it off my mind. I've been fiddling with it for too long in any case.

Someone came up with a great phrase, Linda and the Lymphettes, meaning Linda the lump and her horrid friends in the lymph nodes. I have instantly adopted it and I reckon they are now a ratshit grunge band who can't sing in tune, they have got to get day jobs someplace else, like say, the Sahara desert, or Mars. Yeah, Mars is good. If anyone ever lands there the first thing they'll see is a sign announcing the performance of Linda and the Lymphettes, 8pm, Marstown. No one will go.

OK now I'm going too far with this but hey, I'm allowed.

Monday 28 June

Aaaack

It's here...tomorrow I go into hospital. I'm dreaming about scissors and knitting needles. Last night I dreamt a small boy took a pair of sharp scissors, sat down in front of my dressing table and smushed up all my eyeshadows. I protested and pointed to a sign that said, "Don't mess these up", and he grinned and said, "I don't care." I had blood all over me as well.

It doesn't take Freud to work that one out.

I'm deeply afraid, which is odd because when I had my gallbladder removed 6 years ago I wasn't. I think it's because the gallbladder was extremely painful and the operation was going to be a relief. This time I have almost no pain, a few twinges is all, and a lot of tiredness. I can fool myself into thinking I'm fine, and my whole body is crying out "Don't do this to me!"

So, I've been doing finishing-up type things, clearing my desk at work, finishing my story, tidying up, stuff like that. It seems to help.

It's my job, in this culture, to be "marvellous about it", to make it all right for everyone else around me, to be a plucky thing who did fine, who didn't make a fuss. Though most people I know are being wondrously kind and supportive, I feel the pressure to be cheerful and to present as okay. Breast cancer is treatable.. look at all the people who get through this... you are so strong.. people are trying to cheer me up but I also hear the message, "this is not a big deal and I don't want to see you vulnerable and cracking up".

I think perhaps some of this is in my own mind. But some of it isn't. If people say how are you and I say, "I'm dreadfully afraid and I'm tired all the time", most don't know what to say, they have no vocabulary. If I say, "I'm doing okay considering", they look reassured and can go on with what they were doing. It puts less of an onus on them.

In some respects it's good because when you do pretend, you feel better and even forget about being ill for a while. In other respects it's not because it's such a lot of work. I think that's why I find being around others so tiring.

I don't know what the answer is. I'm veering towards being honest with people I care about and pretending with others, it seems to be the easiest way so far. Of course sometimes I do feel okay, so that complicates things!

I won't be blogging for a good while I expect, so see you when I come up for air.

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