Today I got the phone call you never want to get: I do in fact have cancer. Granted, it is the teeniest tiniest most curable cancer you can pretty much have, but still — it is just never a word you want applied to you, anywhere, ever. My next step is something called Mohs surgery, and the little divot in my nose will likely become a little crater. But you know what? I'm a scarred veteran of master-class acne; there are little divots and craters and bumps and red spots and areas of mottled flesh all over my face, and whenever I casually mention them to my adult friends, they appear mystified. No one looks at your own face as closely as you do. This I know for sure.
In other words, if I still have two nostrils that are surrounded by something that passes for skin, I think I'll be okay.
I finished my editing job at 5:23 p.m., and since we still don't have a garbage disposal (which means that we can't use the dishwasher), exhausted Husband and cancer-plagued I decided to take everyone out to dinner at our local Mexican joint. I had a small comforting bowl of tortilla soup and several small comforting glasses of medicinal Chardonnay (which are giving me a headache; I am still doing the Paso Doble with last week's migraines, but I wanted them anyway) and we played cards and were very silly with each other, and it was a nice family evening.
And now, despite headache, I may well have a Bourbon Bog since all the ingredients are handy, and either read my new library book or watch Murder on the Orient Express, which I grabbed at the library today; a nice cozy murder just fits my mood. And then a glorious night of brainless TV: Survivor (which is amazingly awesome this season; the cast comprises all these older smart people who actually know how to employ strategy, and it's been a blast to watch) and Modern Family and Nashville, oh, it is heaven on a plate.
Here's a side note for my new friend Kate, who asked me about My Brilliant Career:
- I discovered that I loved copy-editing while working at a totally different kind of job. I got started as an editor by editing people's masters and doctoral theses; you can't charge very much, but it's a great way to get your feet wet.
- I took a couple of editing classes, which was great, because it gave me the opportunity to compare my skills to a professional copy editor's. Confidence boost!!
- The company I worked for had an in-house editor, and I literally circled her office like a hungry wolf until she left for another job — and I pounced.
- I did that for 15 years, and it was a great job. (Yes, 15 years — I am old enough to be your mother. Which is why I can give you all this sage life advice. Learn from me, kitten!) ☺
- But . . . after 15 years, I was ready for a change [I am legally required to say this next part:] even though it meant abandoning Mrs. Cynicletary, my beloved friend, and no, she would never do this to me because she is a far better person and her moral compass could kick sand in the face of mine. But it wouldn't — because it is just that moral. [Addendum that Mrs. C prefers I not share: She had an opportunity to take a blood oath to stay together forever and she turned it down. I'm just saying.]
- I became a freelance copy editor, working at home in my jammies, and my former company is the source of 90 percent of my work (overflow from the lovely woman I hired to replace me). Every so often a job comes in from someone who heard about me from someone else. I do very little marketing of myself, because I am lazy and I hate that part of it. (See: why my cherished first novel has only been sent to a dozen agents so far.)
- There are all sorts of ways for freelance copy editors to peddle their services . . . but they're all worky. The way I'm choosing to get work is through magic.
- I am only semi successful in this endeavor.
- Which is why I'm also a Math Practice Guide. Love that regular paycheck!
OK! My headache actually abated while writing all this, so I think the universe is begging me to make a cocktail. I am so good at reading signs from the universe! Seriously, it's a gift.
Happy Hump Day, y'all! (No, I am not playing the Dirty Minds Game. Pervs.)
xx Lady C, survivor
(cue Gloria Gaynor!!!)