<p>Karen Colleges, my daughter does not know about this site, and if she did, she would think we were all barking mad. LOL. But I had sort of an epiphany last night - I went home, and thinking I needed to try to get some control of the mess, tried to go through things to sort them out and determine what might be salvaged. My daughter and I had talked earlier about my luggage set in particular; it is black, it was sitting on the floor; we talked about how I could never know if it developed mold or mildew because of the color of it, and how I could never imagine putting clean business clothing in it, ever again. Anyway, we talked, and she said maybe an upholstery cleaner? I speculated as to how my time is worth more than the effort of finding and hiring an upholstery cleaner - whatever, I went home, opened the luggage, and to my dismay found papers, more books, and more clothing just sort of thrown in there, and half of it soaking wet, half of it clean and dry, but the two mixed together, so the clean and dry stuff was icky anyway. </p>
<p>I ended up throwing all of it into the trash - the luggage and the contents. </p>
<p>Later, when I went to bed, I was laying there thinking about the luggage, and I remembered when I bought it, and what it represented to me: I was going places, literally and figuratively; I was on my way. These were the material icons that proved that I was headed into important dialog with interesting, educated people on critical topics in appropriate geographies. When my daughter and I talked earlier she reminded me of author’s inscriptions in some of the books and told me to try to dig them out of the trash and save them if I could, and, I tried not to cry when she said this, not wanting to upset her, anyway, later, last night, I couldn’t hold the tears back any longer, and so I started to cry, there in bed, thinking about the loss of my stuff and what it represented in my life. </p>
<p>Once I got that out of my system, I began to realize that I wasn’t sad over the luggage or the books or anything else; I was sad, and to some extent very angry, about the cancer. The books etc. were just the catalyst I was using to send my anger elsewhere - at the landlady perhaps, who, to be sure, made some very unfortunate choices; she zigged when she should have zagged, etc., but at the end of the day, she meant well, was trying very hard, and had no malice towards me, she was just confused.</p>
<p>So I made the decision that it’s o.k. to be very angry about this, and it’s even going to be o.k. to cry, but, I have to make sure to turn this anger into a very deadly weapon, and aim it at the cancer. </p>
<p>Then, I got up this morning and decided to go through the laundry the landlady did, and, to my horror found not only black tie and formal attire laundered but also wool skirts, - just a weird smorgasbord of all sorts of clothing that should never be mixed let alone washed and dried in machines, and so then I thought, wait a minute, maybe my thinking last night was wrong…</p>
<p>What I am certain of is that negative thinking is poisonous and corrosive; it impacts who we are and what we become. Today, physically, I feel worse than I have at any point since diagnosis; it is obvious that this is as much mental and physical, and I need to get control of this. </p>
<p>ADad, thanks for that. I first read Ayn Rand’s books as a teenager, and many times since. I admire her greatly and am sorry that she died when she did, I had always hoped that she would write more. It is frustrating to read the same four books over and over again, but as long as I let several years pass between re-reading them I find I get something new out of them each time.</p>