My heart is glad. I don't think that I have quite wrapped my brain around the fact that I now have 3 1/2 weeks – 25 blessed days – to do with as I please. And for once it's a gift that our profs take so long in grading our exams. I want no ugly news to dilute the pure joy I'm feeling right now.

It's true that I am pretty sure I did not distinguish myself this semester. At least not in the ways one hopes to. It may be grim indeed when those grades get reported. What I should remember, though, is that in 4 months I: weathered a VERY difficult 15 credit courseload, applied for (and made the shortlist for) my long-shot dream job, ran a journal with a staff of 90 and increased its output by 33%, attacked my longtime companion depression head on, and survived a bout of pneumonia. Small wonder that I'm fucking tired!

I hope to spend this time relaxing, catching up with friends, resuming my running and yoga practices, indulging my dogs, reading and writing purely for my own pleasure, drinking, cooking, cleaning my car (not that that'll take me 25 days, but it IS pretty dire. It looks like a homeless person's been living out of it), and so on. O, happy decadence!

Sweet Jesus. A friend of mine recently told me that her brother is quite sick; she just sent an email informing us that he has a malignant brain tumor. It's an extremely treatable presentation and it sounds as though his personal prognosis is as good as could be hoped for, but still.

First and foremost, prayers of whatever flavor you prefer to her brother (and indeed to her entire family).

As soon as I saw her email, I sat to write her a response. Okay, first I did some internet research on the type of tumor and the treatment, incidence, prognosis, etc. Forewarned is forearmed and facts are my weapon of choice. So first research, then response. And before I could squeeze out a simple "if there's anything I can do...", I realized that I was crying. Initially we're talking a couple of big fat salty tears plunking down, but before I knew what was what I was in the middle of a great big silent snotstorm. I wish that I could pretend that I was feeling weepy for my friend, that I'm just that sensitive a person (and that IS part of it), but really I was crying for me.

(I mean, what kind of wretched, small-hearted shit does this make me? Snatching someone else's nightmare and turning it into a platform for more of my own drama -- but if you can't admit this stuff to your anonymous weblog, then really what's the point?)

Here's one of the descriptions I found tonight on one of the brain tumor sites while I was doing my quasi-research. It's from an advocacy piece for people with my type of tumor:

"[Another] way tumors make themselves known is in initial subtle changes in mood and mind. Patients may have a spotty memory, wide mood swings, deep depression, bi-polar behavior, or fail to recognize familiar things. They can’t remember familiar words and names, experience red-hot anger (adult temper tantrums) and some withdraw socially. There are many, many more symptoms and it differs from patient to patient. Total apathy is known to occur, so is melancholia."

Poof! Just like that I'm right back in it. A couple of not-very-eloquent words on a website, and before I know it it's close enough to touch. It's been more than 7 years now since I first learned about my little black hole and finally found some relief. Not something I spend a whole lot of time thinking about anymore, despite JL's smartass claim that I invoke it in every sentence. But wow. It's still there (and by "it" I mean both the literal, physical tumor and the "it" of all of those years) and I suppose that a little reminder every now and again is in order.

Lately I've been so critical of myself and my squandered opportunities and all of my excuses for poor past performance. I think I'm gonna try to take a rain check on that stuff.