The Persistence of Memory

 Entry 1 8:20 a.m.

The Persistence of Memory. Dali, 1931.

I am at my desk. At work. Not kidding. We are having an in-person staff meeting, or so I thought. I am the only one on the floor right now, 40 minutes early for the meeting. Checking the calendar, it says its a teams meeting, with no room attached. I was at the meeting when the interim director announced this would be an in-person meeting. He isn't the best at communicating, so if this changed, I can at least say I had a day at the office. Also, if it wasn't COVID, I could go check on Jenny, who is shortly to arrive at VM for chemotherapy.

So, the in-person is now on the 29th. I remember the agreement now that I am sitting in my desk chair. 

This is an off-day for me. I have been scattered like my mother would get at times since last night, when Abby didn't arrive home on time from her acting gig. Her phone went straight to VM. She didn't answer my texts. She is generally very prompt at arriving home on time. Even so, she pushes the boundaries of timeliness as any teenager is wont to do. About 7:15 she called to say she had been shooting late and her phone was set on do not disturb.  By this time, I was already in full-on panic mode. This isn't like me, but after Leiney's accident and other stressors, I was just off. Completely off. Jenny and I had been communicating as she was heading to her friend's house, coincidentally on Mercer Island. She too was very concerned, she said.  Jenny had me check WSDOT cameras, traffic reports, as she was driving. As I was doing that, I asked if she would swing by Youth Theater to see if Abby was there, and she agreed. The cameras and traffic reports clear, I hung up. When I checked in about 10 minutes later, having still not heard from Abby, Jenny said she had just picked up her friend, and they were just now going to YTN. Priorities. Why am I surprised?

Today's view from my office.
The good news is Abby is fine. She got home, we ate dinner and joked together, and that was that. But I am off-kilter. Still. Anxious, and discombobulated. 

I had terrible dreams last night about entering this building today. Dali has nothing on my dreams. One doesn't even know what is in their memory banks until you start rolling the tape in your dreams. The brain loves to twist and turn events that have transpired--and it may be the anxiety painting on the subconscious canvas--and I am grateful for that. My anxiety may also be driven by the fact I haven't gotten my booster shot yet, after reading the headline that Pfizer protection wears off after 6 months. I had Moderna and don't know the length of its efficacy--I am not exactly sanguine in my social distancing and masking, as a result. So, today. Kaiser Renton. After this meeting. 

I am shopping today. For Thanksgiving. Two 12 lb. toms. I will cook and carve one on Wednesday, one on Thursday. I am hoping to take next Tuesday and Wednesday off to have 6 days in a row off and to burn floating holidays. I am also making cocktails next week for the 26 adults in attendance at our home. If you have favorite and unique cocktail suggestions/recipes, please leave such ideas in the comments.  I started making Limoncello last night, which is so easy, I wish I had done it when Jenny was still able to drink, she loves it so. 

The dog alarm clock, for the first time in working memory, didn't wake me this morning. I would celebrate, but I had planned on leaving at 7. I slept in, though, and woke at 630. Seriously. I showered, shaved, brushed my teeth, let the dogs out, gave them treats, fed them breakfast, made a fresh pot of coffee so Jenny could get her cup before chemo (of which I had time for none), all before 7:15. I was actually disappointed I woke so late. 

Lou Reed's Magic and Loss plays in my head all the time, these days. It is an album focused on two of his friends dying and their ultimate deaths from cancer. Liver cancer killed Reed, so he would have an idea of what Jenny is going through.
Entry 2  11:43
As predicted, no CA 19-9. The CEA came back. It isn't good. 
Entry 3 5:36 p.m.
I am already feeling the effects of the booster. Holy moly. Much worse than the 1st or 2nd shot.
Entry 4 9:13 p.m.
I feel at times that my life is like living far aloft in a balloon over the North Sea watching a disaster about to happen. I can see the ship approaching the iceberg, but have no way to warn the crew or passengers. 

Got our bird tonight. Opted for one large bird, rather than baking two. 

In less mundane news, Jenny was as miserable as I have seen her in months tonight, in pain, retching, hating this life. Comforting her as best I could, rubbing her back and offering her soft words, I could feel how tired she is of this ordeal.


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