Welcome to the new readers. Thank you for taking the time to read what thoughts tumble out of my brain, through my fingers, and into words on here. So, how do you do? I'd like to add a thank you for stopping by. I hope you don't mind that I put the further content of this post together since it was something I think I've been wanting to say, but hadn't quite figured out the verbosity of it. You can quit reading now, if you want to. I wouldn't be angrivated about that at all if you did.
I would like to mention I've done a bit of remodeling since I seem to have more traffic these days. Comments have been enabled, although I reserve the right to moderate them because I'm an evil bitch like that and I like the fact that I can refuse someone's comments about how evil I am because I'm evil. Just saying.
I've gone from visits from the continental US and Alaska to worldwide visits, which is pretty awesome sauce. (If anyone was wondering I've been on the internet over twenty years now, and have been blogging off and on for thirteen years, as well as being a wife and mom, married for twenty-five years with three male monkeys raised, so I do have a variety of life experience which makes me more than qualified to do whatever the hell it is I want to do. Right? Right. Just saying.)
All of that said, the fuck you too goes out to the fuckers who kicked me to the curb when I was diagnosed with HER2+ breast cancer for whatever reason and the ones who just don't fucking comprehend that there is no going back to the old normal self and those who think they "know" better than I do about me and my life. Instead of telling me that like you have all the answers, which I know you don't and in my book, that makes you delusional in an amusing way, why couldn't you have asked me what you could do to help me? Oh wait, it's because you know everything, which I find damn funny.
Since some people seem to think they know everything, then maybe they have answers about how to cope with a cancer diagnosis and a year of poisoning with shit made from some of the chemical components of Agent Orange, being consistently and intentionally lied to about anything and everything related to said diagnosis, having the entire upper third of their chest ripped off their body to leave nothing but skin over ribs and not being allowed to have physical therapy because the surgeon "didn't see a need for it." (I still have fucking problems with fine motor skill and dexterity nearly three years out from being surgically mutilated. Even hand writing a check is very difficult for me now.)
Tell me how you know you have all the answers about how aggressive scanning isn't something that's a big deal when said scans are bad for the human body, how any ache or pain needs to be explained and/or monitored to make certain that I don't have mets, be it from chemo, what's done to me to monitor me, or whatever. Sure, you have all the answers about me being the age I am and trapped in a body that has an added twenty years to it because of what was done to me and I'm sure you can completely explain all about normality and functionality when it doesn't truly exist for me any longer, just like you know all about my bitchitude because I talk about this shit and not the fake, smarmy bullshit of pink ribbons and glitter.
Let me think about this for a moment. Done. (That lasted maybe half a millisecond, didn't it?)
Bitchitude and being brutally honest so that maybe it helps someone else versus fake, smarmy bullshit of pink ribbons and glitter and hope, because you know, people with cancer just "hope" it away.
Guess what the content here will be? Yes, you guessed it.
Bitchitude and plenty of it, so haters gonna hate on my bitchitude, Imma tell you go somewhere else and fuck yourself. Or if not, you can always come back and read my future post about the cancer INDUSTRY and then you can tell me you don't believe me when I say it's an industry after I put the fucking numbers in front of your nose and then still keep your comments to yourself.
Still rocking the Foca laundry soap and vinegar for the laundry. I have Castile soap which I'll be using to make body soap and shampoo, although I think tomorrow, I may do a molasses rinse on the hair.
I would like to mention I've done a bit of remodeling since I seem to have more traffic these days. Comments have been enabled, although I reserve the right to moderate them because I'm an evil bitch like that and I like the fact that I can refuse someone's comments about how evil I am because I'm evil. Just saying.
I've gone from visits from the continental US and Alaska to worldwide visits, which is pretty awesome sauce. (If anyone was wondering I've been on the internet over twenty years now, and have been blogging off and on for thirteen years, as well as being a wife and mom, married for twenty-five years with three male monkeys raised, so I do have a variety of life experience which makes me more than qualified to do whatever the hell it is I want to do. Right? Right. Just saying.)
All of that said, the fuck you too goes out to the fuckers who kicked me to the curb when I was diagnosed with HER2+ breast cancer for whatever reason and the ones who just don't fucking comprehend that there is no going back to the old normal self and those who think they "know" better than I do about me and my life. Instead of telling me that like you have all the answers, which I know you don't and in my book, that makes you delusional in an amusing way, why couldn't you have asked me what you could do to help me? Oh wait, it's because you know everything, which I find damn funny.
Since some people seem to think they know everything, then maybe they have answers about how to cope with a cancer diagnosis and a year of poisoning with shit made from some of the chemical components of Agent Orange, being consistently and intentionally lied to about anything and everything related to said diagnosis, having the entire upper third of their chest ripped off their body to leave nothing but skin over ribs and not being allowed to have physical therapy because the surgeon "didn't see a need for it." (I still have fucking problems with fine motor skill and dexterity nearly three years out from being surgically mutilated. Even hand writing a check is very difficult for me now.)
Tell me how you know you have all the answers about how aggressive scanning isn't something that's a big deal when said scans are bad for the human body, how any ache or pain needs to be explained and/or monitored to make certain that I don't have mets, be it from chemo, what's done to me to monitor me, or whatever. Sure, you have all the answers about me being the age I am and trapped in a body that has an added twenty years to it because of what was done to me and I'm sure you can completely explain all about normality and functionality when it doesn't truly exist for me any longer, just like you know all about my bitchitude because I talk about this shit and not the fake, smarmy bullshit of pink ribbons and glitter.
Let me think about this for a moment. Done. (That lasted maybe half a millisecond, didn't it?)
Bitchitude and being brutally honest so that maybe it helps someone else versus fake, smarmy bullshit of pink ribbons and glitter and hope, because you know, people with cancer just "hope" it away.
Guess what the content here will be? Yes, you guessed it.
Bitchitude and plenty of it, so haters gonna hate on my bitchitude, Imma tell you go somewhere else and fuck yourself. Or if not, you can always come back and read my future post about the cancer INDUSTRY and then you can tell me you don't believe me when I say it's an industry after I put the fucking numbers in front of your nose and then still keep your comments to yourself.
Still rocking the Foca laundry soap and vinegar for the laundry. I have Castile soap which I'll be using to make body soap and shampoo, although I think tomorrow, I may do a molasses rinse on the hair.
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