Remember Me?

Whenever I do busy work, data-entry, the dishes, folding clothes, I have to listen to music. Music seems to help my hands, body and brain all sync up to do the work that I need to do, but am not terribly excited about.

Today it was data-entry with Sea Wolf. Old World Romance is an album that reminds me of this last summer. All the fun things I did with my family, which kind of culminated in a quick trip to the Indiana Dunes, sans kiddo.

I’m not proud to admit it, but the trip came about not from careful planning or even by consulting Bryan. It was the result of the following, “I’m going. Would you like to come?” I’m one of those people that have to get away sometimes.

It starts with a little tic in my left eyebrow, which rises at pretty much everything I hear. After a while, this tic transforms into an irritation in my brain, like an itch that won’t stop being itchy. Then, every CVS or grocery store I see makes me want to ram my car through the double glass doors of said establishments. Thereafter, the breathing of other humans seems to be a personal attack against my inner peace.

It’s then I know, without a doubt, I need a change of scenery.

And that’s how we got to the Dunes. I pried my Introverted home-body away from his beloved home and into the driver’s seat of a car. I packed our camping gear but had no plan and no real clue about where we were going. I just wanted to go, so we pointed the car north and we went.

When we got there, I hoped that the fresh dune air and the seagulls would act as a kind of salve to the forced spontaneity and summer traffic. And it did. It was one of those rare weekends this summer where it was hot enough to feel like summer during the day but still chilly at night, perfect for camping. Once we had our fill of the dunes on that first afternoon, we went back to our camp. Bryan, who was a devotee of Vulcan in his last life, set to work on the fire. Once it was going, he got me a glass of champagne, cracked open a beer for himself and turned on Old World Romance.

Thinking about it now makes me smile. That trip will stave off that twitch in my left eyebrow for a long time. I felt so totally free. For that day I was: a solo trip with my man, sleeping under the stars, sand in front of a body of water that could be mistaken for the ocean out of the corner of one’s eye. No dishes. No chores, no screens. Not a care in the world, save how I might go about secretly consuming a cold beer on the beach.  Suddenly, the sound of other human beings was like music to me. Bliss, even. My plan worked.  

Fast forward to December; fast forward to today. Listening to that album brings all that back. I find myself smiling. Thinking, I remember that version of me: the carefree, cancer-free version. I miss that woman; things are so very different today.

Instead of thinking about how long pig-tails are the best camping hairstyle ever, I’m picking up my wig. Rather than reflecting on how champagne tastes just as good from a red solo cup, I plan my day around eating and drinking more cleanly. Rather than making a mini stone wall (from our chairs all the way down to the water) I’m resting in all my free time.

So many changes, I hardly recognize myself today. And tomorrow and Monday and Tuesday, when my hair is finally all gone, I will recognize myself even less. I miss that other woman. Maybe, someday, I can be her again, if only for one precious day.