Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Is it really economical/time-is-money thing for me to write a column that takes me three hours of writing and research for $60? Aren't I worth more than $20 an hour by now? And being paid the same amount as when I started three years ago, when the company has gone from start-up to being sold to a major corporation?

I think I'm getting screwed and am pretty close to asking for a raise or letting it go.

For the moment I'm saying screw it and going to the gym. Less than 24 hours till the PET scan which will fucking determine the rest of my fucking fucking fuckity fuckish Cancer treatment and hence the rest of my life, quality of and span. No biggie. Nope, not at all.

Honestly, I can't even make dinner plans at this point, cause if I get bad news on Friday—like, "Hello, you're not responding to treatment and we're recommending infusion chemo,"—likely I won't be good company. I'm so beyond sick of this bullshit and my own life I just want to go to sleep for like a month and wake up on another planet.

I know Norton said not to say things like this to doctors, but I'll say it to you. I will not lose my hair or go on infusion chemo again. I will be a guinea pig—as in trying Herceptin + Tykerb + Xeloda. At least then I'd be doing a service to research. But, sorry—quality of life is more important to me than longevity. Plus, a dead author sells more books and earns more respect anyway.

At a certain point, I have to live for myself and not my friends and family.