This was not the plan for today’s observations from Lymphomaland. I wasn’t going to be pissed off. I had worried and anxious lined up. But now, I’ll save those for tomorrow.
When things are really annoying and unfair, they need to be vented immediately. Im-mediately.
LIKE THIS FUCKING LEAF BLOWER across the street. (Writerly aside: how do you handle the conflict between saving the surprise for last, and burying your lead?)
It’s pushing it to look at everything through cancer-coloured glasses, I know. To say things like People shouldn’t drive so quickly through huge slushy puddles and get shit all over you, WHEN YOU HAVE CANCER. But sometimes that little woe is me voice just pops out. And when you have cancer, it’s hard to not lay the trippy lens on top of everything. Why shouldn’t I? There’s no statute of limitations on the feeling you've been dealt an unfair cancer hand (although there are definitely limitations on people’s tolerance for it). Whatever. Milk shouldn’t go bad WHEN YOU HAVE CANCER. Children shouldn’t forget to flush the toilet WHEN YOU HAVE CANCER.
It’s been a long hard winter. Cold. Icy. Malignant. Toxic. Dirty. So today's blue sky and progressively warming weather feel like a gift. Finally.
I didn’t mind winter as much as everyone else seems to have. I was preoccupied, and didn’t have very many places to get to. It was irritating for sure when the venting system at the Odette Centre pharmacy froze, and they couldn’t mix chemo drugs because God forbid anyone should inhale any of the shit I drink by the litre every month. But that was in the depth of winter.
On the positive side, Toronto does snowfall beautifully. There’s a romantic snow-globe loveliness to the falling flakes, and the crisp clear white muffled aftermath of a heavy storm. But it gets ugly quickly, with grey piles of what can barely be identified as ice or snow along roadsides, in parks, in my back yard.
So when it finally, finally appears to be on the way out, the city lifts a face to the warming sky, away from the messy winter leftovers, and all feels hopeful. That seems to have happened today. (Although Spring has been guilty of plenty of premature ejaculation over the past few weeks.)
I’m starting to feel better from last week’s treatment. It’s supposed to be at least 10 degrees and sunny. The disgusting dirty moguls, sprinkled with cigarette butts, are melting. It’s time to get out the leaf blower.
It’s not a single annoying neighbour, with a downtown postage stamp front yard, that’s perpetrating this pointless aural offence. It’s the long-term care facility across the street. The one that prides itself on its beautiful lawn. And what a lawn they have, so this is not a 5 minute blow job. What are they thinking? Spring is springing today, so there must be shit to blow? Well blow hard, because the few mud-pied leaves of last fall, the ones that dared to tumble after the final pre-winter gardening, are glued to the ground.
Look around, guys! It’s the muddy, grassless, budless, nary a crocus-popped, first real day of spring. STOP with the noise pollution.
I hate leaf blowers. They are pointless irritants, like Seadoos, but less fun. Unless strapping on that large phallic device makes you feel like a macho garden superhero, how about trying a fucking rake?
And anyway, People shouldn’t leaf-blow mud piles, or anything, WHEN I HAVE CANCER!