Cracking Cancer Jokes and hating clutter

This morning no heaviness, but my stomach feels like a cold uneaten mild-cheddar cheese omelet. With Chemo you feel like your body a four-limbed sausage casing with loose organs sloshing around like loose items in a bag of luggage--yes, I'm mixing images, but I figure if cancer can get away mutation so can I?

I have to wear gloves to get anything out of the fridge. If I don;t anything cold that touches my hands or feet--well, pick your pain: 1) Lightly touching a hot grill; 2.) wetting your fingers and touching a frozen surface, then pulling away. Yummy flesh!

Last night I worked on some new material at The Poet and Patriot.
 I'm always try to get at least one or two jokes out of the open-mic salt mines. It's the only way to be funny. I've been watching the Marx Brothers films, and you can see how tight they were in those early films because the material was test-driven and tightened on the stage (Groucho always praised Irving Thalberg for making the brothers take their sketches on the road before they filmed them) . But as you get to films like The Big Store, etc, the scenes have too many air pockets, and the pace is off, but there are always moments. So, all I’m saying it is has to be worked on the stage for the lines to become real.

Don’t know how I’ll feel later in the day. The chemo has lessened—so it seems, that sneaky hangover cocktail just opens up a bad fart in my skull. I find it difficult to concentrate, so I drift back and forth, it’s either chemo or I’m having flashbacks of sitting in an office cubicle.

Even though I’ve had chemo, I find myself walking cautiously in this new terrain, stepping over and sometimes setting off trip-wires I didn’t experience before. I will say going through chemo makes me virally intolerant of clutter. I find myself rearranging items, some grumbling about too much stuff in the house. I really get mad about it. I’m trying to clean myself out, and anything that somehow gets in my way of finding something, frustrates me.