I keep dreaming about my hair. I’ve had two hair dreams so far, and in both of them I suddenly have a decent amount of hair. Not as much as I used to, but enough that people aren’t calling me “Sir.” In each dream someone I know is commenting on how fast my hair has grown back, and I’m like, “Yeah, I know!” Then I wake up bald, or at least mostly bald. I do have some very fine hair starting to grown in pretty much all over. It’s so fine it really doesn’t even have any color. Hubster likes to refer to it as Chemo Gray. I prefer Chemo Clear. How cutting edge is that? Who else do you know with CLEAR hair? That’s what I thought, no one. That’s how cool I am…always on the forefront of fashion and beauty, but of course you all knew that.


So how am I feeling this week? Well, not as good as last time, but certainly better than during the AC. Friday I went into town to pick up a few things, and got to my last stop (Walmart) only to leave without buying anything because I was seriously feeling like I was going to throw up. Now, there is a chance that it was the effect of that stupid, overcrowded Super Walmart, and not just me. However, I really didn’t feel like puking at Walmart (because I like to reserve that sort of thing for higher end retail outlets like Nordstrom) so I went home. I told Hubster, “I don’t know what my problem is!” He said, “Gee, maybe it’s chemo?…cancer?” Yeah, yeah yeah, but I’m just SO over this. Sheesh! Like I have time for unproductive trips to Walmart. I think I’ve figured out that it was the pain meds that were making me feel nauseous. So, I’ve stopped taking them during the day. Right now, if Tylenol can’t knock it out, then I’ll just have to deal with it.


Oh, by the way, remember that dog I was telling you about in the previous entry? It occurred to me that it wasn’t called a Lunger, but a Lurcher. Hey, what can I say? Blame chemo brain. Close enough—they’re practically synonyms anyway. Now all you faithful readers who were wanting your very own hoity english manor mutt won’t have to be embarrassed by using the wrong term when inquiring amongst your english manor friends. Walkies!


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