Thursday (I give up)

I called the doctor today. How am I supposed to know what to take for a headache. I don't even think it's a chemo headache, considering it's March and the weather has been crazy. Probably allergies. I also got a prescription for sleeping pills, which I've never needed before. But not sleeping at night is making me crazy (though I did get six straight hours last night).

Last night my tastebuds returned briefly, and I felt like celebrating. Today, cotton mouth again, buds have diminished gradually. Otherwise, I feel better. I went to Target. I bought myself new jeans, but they fit weird. My body is different, definitely. I guess I won't be able to wear that brand anymore. I also bought a few fitted tops, including one with a bit of cleavage. Do you think I'll wear it? Who knows. The iced cafe mocha from Starbucks was so disappointing. I might as well just live on broccoli or something. Sorry, I'm only miserable at this very moment, and I'm only writing right now because I don't feel like getting up.

I should start mentioning now that Allison's birthday is Tuesday. I've never known a person who absorbs attention the way she does, so feel free to contact her if you know how. She'll love it! I can't believe it's been a year since her bat mitzvah. Sometimes I look at my kids and feel so amazed. And why are they so big? Even Jason and I are now eye-to-eye! Speaking of Jason, he's told a few of his friends about me, and today I got a hand-made get well card from a girl he's been friends with since first grade. Isn't that sweet?

Oh, I have my appointment with Joe the wig guy: next Thursday at 7 pm. I hope my hair lasts that long. It's supposed to. I kind of want to cut it off myself before I even go there, just so I'm the one to do it. I still want to keep it in a ponytail holder and stroke it when I would normally run my hands through my hair. Ahhh ... I'm sure I'll have a lot to say about my hair in the next week. Gosh, it's just so thick and lovely. It deserves odes. If only I had any understanding of poetry. Shall I compare my hair to a summer day?