For the last month or so I have been hee-hawing about how much of my life to share. I am a writer at heart, it’s something that’s all in the family; my mother writes, my 10 year-old daughter writes and my Man on the Raw writes. We, for all intents and purposes, write.
As most writers do, I draw upon my personal experiences and interpret my perceptions of them into words. I feel the occurrences that motivate me to write the most come from a place of jealously, anger, sorrow and fear.
Having said that, I’m a bit of a chicken-sh**. I wish I possessed the personality that says, “F-it,” I’m going to write what I want to write and I don’t care what anyone has to say about it.
But I love the Daily Raw Café and I love the people who visit and comment on The Daily Raw Café and I don’t want to offend anyone.
This post could offend. If only for the sheer fact it has nothing to do with Karen Knowler’s Marinated Veggies (broccoli in my case) on page 123 and Shazzie’s Cheddary Cheeze Spread (p. 188)
So if it does offend, please, forgive. Come back tomorrow, "Raw News You Can Use" will be posted.
This Thursday at 9 o’clock in the morning I am having surgery. The type of surgery doesn’t really matter....okay, okay... twist my arm why don't you?
I am having my breasts implants removed. Crap! Did I write “breasts” out loud?
I guess this really isn’t a cheeze and broccoli conversation.
The short of it is, I have had implants for 15 years come this summer, they have served there purpose and I would like my original set back.
Wait before you click the page away, this post isn’t about me down-sizing, it is about me being afraid.
Although, the procedure itself, I have been told, is quite harmless, there are always risks.
My head swears to me that everything will be fine and I will make it through surgery just fabulously. I even had a very lovely psychic yoga instructor give me the A-OK that I will come through with flying colors. And I know I will.
But…
There is a morbid side to me, it’s the writer in me asking “What if?”
I have always wondered what people’s lives were like the days, hours, minutes and seconds before they met their demise. Every minuscule movement could be suspect of the end of days.
You just never know.
Is me NOT writing about Cheese on Broccoli, tossing the tender earth on top of my coffin?
Let’s get this straight, I am not afraid of death. There were days, in the not so distant past, that I have foolishly courted it, like the batter who relentlessly swings yet still misses the ball.
My biggest fear is leaving my children motherless. I know they will be alright, yet I don’t think they are ready to exist without me.
And truth be told, I am not ready to miss being in the audience during Jordan’s Nobel Prize, Donavan’s Pulitzer’s, Bishop’s Presidential Inaugural speech and Avery’s Oscar. I am not ready.
So if it crosses your mind throughout Thursday, (and only if it does) please send a bit of love my children’s way, their mother would be grateful.
Needless to say, I'm taking Friday off. Write you on Monday. :)