It would probably be better to see these anniversaries as evidence that I've thrived, even in the face of this stupid brain tumor, but honestly, they mostly provoke existential angst along the lines of "There's so much I haven't done in those two years!"
Because the thing is, even two years later, I can still hear the Langoliers sometimes. For those unfamiliar with the Stephen King novella of the same name, they are voracious monsters that eat the past, leaving nothing - and nothingness - behind. I hear them figuratively, in my head; they are my own anxieties as I move on to the next MRI, the next oncologist visit, feeling good but what if this is the scan that shows growth? Two years of "surviving," and yet at the same time two years closer to the end of my life.
Perhaps equally frightening is that I can hear the Langoliers literally. As the crow flies, we're only a half-mile or so from an Exxon Mobil refinery. Sometimes, at 4:30 or 5:00 am, I can hear a repetitive crunching noise like the sound I imagine the Langoliers making, inexorable and dark, ready to wipe out everything in its path, including my brain and then the rest of me. Some mornings, depending upon how the wind has blown, there is a fine layer of black soot on our car windshields.
While I've joked in the past that my brain tumor may have been caused by scraping and then eating melted nacho cheese off of nonstick cookie sheets, it's far more likely that it was caused by environmental toxins. This report is from 2002, but we know that my tumor was growing for quite awhile. It's terrifying - even more so because now I'm raising my daughter here. Add to that the fact that also a half-mile away, there's a former costume jewelry factory cum SuperFund site cum call center. We are surrounded by Langoliers in our soil and air and water. Their faces are the maps of chemical compounds, benzene and petroleum and countless others I can barely pronounce.
Whew. Now that I've gone all Silkwood, I think it's time to ratchet it down a notch, right? I know that's kind of tacky, but sometimes getting through the day requires a step or two back... to Savers, where last week I found a pair of AG "Angel" jeans for $9.99, as well as tan linen Armani Collezione pants for the same price. And then at Second Time Around, I took advantage of their fall weekend sale to pick up these amazing Max Mara T-strap heels. I really love the heel on these, because it's high but walkable.
A word here about Second Time Around: they get some terrific consignments, but the attitude in there is getting more and more unbearable. And I'm not sure what's up with all the staff turnover, but maybe the nice woman I used to chat with got fired because she wasn't sufficiently bitchy. "Resale goes upscale" may be the chain's motto, but it doesn't mean that the bitch factor needs to be inflated too. On Friday, T-straps in hand, I overheard an insufferable conversation between two employees about how to tell Marc Jacobs Collection from "Marc" by Marc Jacobs.
What's more, I still don't think most of their Providence customers would know the difference, and guess what? If it fits your body and your budget, buy it and wear it and LOVE it and don't give a shit where it's from. I have plenty of no-name brand things, and great stuff I've pulled from curbs and dumpsters. Style is never about how much you pay for something - certainly in my case, it's more about what I barely paid anything for - rather, most importantly, it's how you wear it.
So wear your clothes with love and pride, because the Langoliers are after us all, and if they take me down, I'm doing it in style.
Namaste,
Kelley
Because the thing is, even two years later, I can still hear the Langoliers sometimes. For those unfamiliar with the Stephen King novella of the same name, they are voracious monsters that eat the past, leaving nothing - and nothingness - behind. I hear them figuratively, in my head; they are my own anxieties as I move on to the next MRI, the next oncologist visit, feeling good but what if this is the scan that shows growth? Two years of "surviving," and yet at the same time two years closer to the end of my life.
Perhaps equally frightening is that I can hear the Langoliers literally. As the crow flies, we're only a half-mile or so from an Exxon Mobil refinery. Sometimes, at 4:30 or 5:00 am, I can hear a repetitive crunching noise like the sound I imagine the Langoliers making, inexorable and dark, ready to wipe out everything in its path, including my brain and then the rest of me. Some mornings, depending upon how the wind has blown, there is a fine layer of black soot on our car windshields.
While I've joked in the past that my brain tumor may have been caused by scraping and then eating melted nacho cheese off of nonstick cookie sheets, it's far more likely that it was caused by environmental toxins. This report is from 2002, but we know that my tumor was growing for quite awhile. It's terrifying - even more so because now I'm raising my daughter here. Add to that the fact that also a half-mile away, there's a former costume jewelry factory cum SuperFund site cum call center. We are surrounded by Langoliers in our soil and air and water. Their faces are the maps of chemical compounds, benzene and petroleum and countless others I can barely pronounce.
Whew. Now that I've gone all Silkwood, I think it's time to ratchet it down a notch, right? I know that's kind of tacky, but sometimes getting through the day requires a step or two back... to Savers, where last week I found a pair of AG "Angel" jeans for $9.99, as well as tan linen Armani Collezione pants for the same price. And then at Second Time Around, I took advantage of their fall weekend sale to pick up these amazing Max Mara T-strap heels. I really love the heel on these, because it's high but walkable.
What's more, I still don't think most of their Providence customers would know the difference, and guess what? If it fits your body and your budget, buy it and wear it and LOVE it and don't give a shit where it's from. I have plenty of no-name brand things, and great stuff I've pulled from curbs and dumpsters. Style is never about how much you pay for something - certainly in my case, it's more about what I barely paid anything for - rather, most importantly, it's how you wear it.
So wear your clothes with love and pride, because the Langoliers are after us all, and if they take me down, I'm doing it in style.
Namaste,
Kelley
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