I typically try to go about my days with a bit of levity, and thoughts of the future, not the past. But sometimes I do go to that dark place; Thinking about cancer and the what ifs that still linger in my mind. What if it comes back? What if I can't have children? What if a giant anvil falls on my head (one of my greatest fears, but I presume that if this happens I will just pop out, folded up like an accordion and walk it off).
Adam is great about helping me shake these ugly thoughts, but they do come and go. I guess it's all part of the beast, it always somewhat stays with you. I start to think that I should be doing everything I can to avoid having this happen to me again... maybe eat more veggies, wear more sunblock? I was looking at the package of a light fixture the other day and it warned that handling the base excessively could lead to cancer (or so I deduced, in so many words). Can I never handle light bulbs again? And what if I wanted to put it in my mouth? Now I can't! (I may have wanted to exercise that option, you never know).
My hair now looks like a short pixie cut, one that some people complement me on, thinking that I'm just a spunky, brave gal who experiments with her 'do. But it feels like I've waited so long for it to get to at least this length. Every time family or friends see me they comment that it's growing so fast, but to me it's painfully slow. It's a minute detail to fixate on, but I can't help it. I completed the photo wall in our house, which is full of pictures of my old self, with my old hair. Blonde, long. I wish I could just get used to how I look now with my short, dark hair, even perhaps learn to love it. Too many demons to battle sometimes.