Thank You (Part Deux)

If I may allow myself to quote my… self (see how ridiculously narcissistic this blogging thing starts to get?), there was something I said a few dozen posts back that I feel the need to repeat:

Thank you.

Some very wonderful friends have taken time out of their busy lives to (among many, many other helpful and loving things) create a fundraiser page to help me get through the crushing burden of having something as trying and difficult and pain-in-the-assy as an old fashioned BrainChance!™

They did this to help me pay medical bills, schmedical bills, grocery bills and schmocery bills.  They did this to help me not spend 3/4 of my day in a state of debilitating stress worrying about things that aren’t even brain cancer:  things like… not letting the life that I worked so hard to build spin out of control and fall apart before I even fall apart.  Things like… not having the time to write and do the things I love the most because I’m spending 3/4 of my (now limited) brainenergy on that first thing, and the other 1/4 on not dying.  You know, things like that.  The myriad gifts that come wrapped up in a shiny little bonus box when you get a Certified BrainChance.™

Thank you, friends, for doing that.

And to those of you who have contributed to this fund, at the risk of repeating myself:

Thank yous.  ALL A’YOUS!

For the love of All That Is Great And Holy And Beautiful In This World (not limited to dolphins and rainbows and the Grand Canyon and the Philadelphia Eagles and chocolate), THANK YOU!  Thank you with an infinite amount of exclamation points.  Thank you with the longest and hardest and coziest e-hug I can e-muster without getting e-creepy.  (If you’d prefer, thank you with an e-handshake.)

Thank you for reading, for considering, and for caring enough to take your time and your hard earned money and to convert it into peace of mind for a piece of mind.  A piece of mind that some of you know well, some of you know only fleetingly, and some of you don’t know at all.  Every one of you who has contributed and who has read this blog and who has reached out in any way at all has helped me and touched me deeply.  And not at all e-creepily.

Not to get all poetic (when I’m already in the middle of being simultaneously grateful and silly– I mean two things is enough, right?), but when this fundraiser thing got started I wrote to my wonderful friend who cracked the whip to get it all going: “it feels like waves of relief crashing upon my tired shores.”  Not only did I just get poetic, I just quoted myself.  Again.  But that IS exactly what it feels like: it feels like waves of relief. Like those waves down the shore in the summertime, those waves that crash softly over your shoulders and tell you that you’re not alone, and that everything is going to be OK.

So thank you for those waves.  For those wonderful, soothing brain waves. My shores are still tired, but they are already starting to feel more calm.  Which makes a big, big difference.  Fighting cancer is a lot easier when you’re not simultaneously scrambling to save your life and your LIFE. Only worrying about one of those things makes a big, big difference.

Speaking of which, to those of you who may not yet have heard about this fundraiser thingymadoodle:

Thank you for reading this neither poetic nor narcissistic blog.
Now watch out, ‘cuz here comes the hard sell!

If you’re at all interested in this fundraiser thingymadoodle that everybody’s talking about, there is a link to it on the top right of the page where it says “FIGHT THE BRAIN CHANCE!”   (You can also get to it by just clicking on this sentence right here.)

Will ya look at that.  E-panhandling!  And I didn’t even have to put on my hobo clothes!  Ah, the magic of the innernet.
(In truth, I am actually wearing hobo clothes right now.  Well… hobo-like clothes.  They’re not that dirty, but they are… informal.)

I am tempted right now to just keep typing the words “thank” and “you” followed by rows of exclamation points until I fall asleep, but I’m already about to fall asleep and I need to take off these hobo clothes before I do so I’d better just say good nightttttttttzzzzzzzzzzztttttttttttttttzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttzzzzzzzzzzztt tttttttttttttzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttzzzzzzzzzzztttttttttttttttzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttzzzzzzzzzzztttttttttttttttzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttz zzzzzzzzzztttttttttttttttzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttzzzzzzzzzzztttttttttttttttzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttzzzzzzzzzzztttttttttttttttzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttzzzzzzz zzzztttttttttttttttzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttzzzzzzzzzzztttttttttttttttzzzzzzzzzz zzzzztttttttzzzzzzzzzzztttttttttttttttzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttzzzzzzzzzzztttttttttttttttzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttzzzzzzzzzzztttttttttttttttzz zzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttzzzzzzzzzzztttttttttttttttzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttzzzzzzzzzzztttttttttttttttzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttzzzzzzzzzzztttttttttttttttz zzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttzzzzzzzzzzztttttttttttttttzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzttttttthank yoU!

And good night.

Dream sweet dreams for me
Dream sweet dreams for you

Good night everybody
Everybody everywhere
Good night.

Sleep tight.

And thank you.

One thought on “Thank You (Part Deux)

  1. Hi, I recently started following your blog and am grateful to have found it (through Yo Venice). I am dealing with major health matters now too and am inspired by your honesty, humor and candor while sharing your journey.
    You must be from the east coast, if “eagles” didn’t give it away, the “shore” did. We don’t have a down the shore here in LA just a beach without the positive ions. I was just telling this to an east coast friend earlier today.
    I hope you grow old and continue to share your writing with the world.
    Take good care, Chad
    Marcie Fisher

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