Sunday Night

I was going to shave my hair today, but I just never got around to it. My hair and moustache are getting skimpy enough that they would be better off shaved, but I just never seemed to have the energy. Chemotherapy is the gift that keeps on giving, in that respect at least.

I was also going to give my little dog (the Blawg Dawg) a haircut, but I never got around to that either. She's getting awfully scruffy, but she doesn't care. Nothing dampens her mood; she's just as happy sitting in a cold mud puddle as she is sleeping on a folded-up blanket at the foot of the bed. I'm trying to learn from her example, though I confess that after a year of cancer and chemotherapy I feel, in the words of Bilbo Baggins, "Thin, like butter scraped across too much bread."

My nephew got married yesterday. How often does your nephew get married? Not often, and I wanted to go, but chemo makes one unfit for public appearances. Suffice it to say that I just couldn't go, but I felt guilty about it all day.