Am I the same person on social media as I am in my real life?
I don’t know. Ask my husband. Or my best friends. Ask my Buddhist community. Or my would-be agent, publisher, director. I am the same person – versions – all people- one for each direction. All angles. Bright. Wishful and shiny. Serene. Dark. Angry. With Cancer. Possible cancer, that’s what happened today at my 3D mammogram recall with ultrasound. Don’t do the biopsy, no biopsy, the female survivors cried in my ear, don’t extract, don’t spread it like a mushroom of death, let the body quarantine and handle it. Yet oddly, I am optimistic. See, I’d been feeling down about the state of my lack of writing career, publications, etcetera, wondering, what do I do with myself? Beaten down by all the lofty no’s, but the big C sort of puts it all in perspective, doesn’t it? This is my one wild and precious life. Who cares about publishing when there’s a blossoming kumquat tree in the backyard filled with honeybees? Ready to burst. A husband who mirrors back love nobody ever talks about anymore, shoots of blue kindness emanating from his eyes. Long faraway seem those old days of dark despair, praying praying to be taken by a God who doesn’t even exist. At least not in the way humans created him/her/it. So, six centimeters in the right breast? Jesus Fucking Christ we’re burning down the Amazon, the lungs of the planet are on fire. That’s less than three inches near the sternum. Ironic, near the lungs, for an ex-smoker.
I almost posted all of this on FB, but then I remembered my father is on social media.
So, yes, I am the same person, and no, I guess.
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