Well, I want to mention that I may have slightly inacurrately misrepresented the Proton study. I was reading the "Informed Consent to Participate in Research" form, and from what I gather, Dr. Nancy P. Mendenhall is actually the "principal investigator." Dr. Hoppe is a "sub-investigator." Dr. Hoppe is the person who I met with for my consultation though.
I am sad about a friend's news. I am playing tomorrow, 12-4. Monday, more chemo.
In the meantime...I am reading. I am on a reading kick. A fiction kick. I haven't read fiction like this since I was pre-pubescent. Ha ha. I'm not saying there is a connection...I am just saying. I read a lot of fiction as a kid. (Perhaps the connection is that I have a lot of "me-time"). There is a lot that can be learned from fiction...and that is the kind of fiction I enjoy the most.
Right now I am in the middle of two fiction works: "Second Glance" by Jodi Piccoult and "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues" by Tom Robbins. My mom gave me the Piccoult book recently and the Robbins book I have because I am kind of trying to read all his stuff. I appreciate the art of composing, of the framing of the human experience from different perspectives, and not only that, but playing around with time. There are so many countless choices that go into the creation of a story, of the translation of that story into language, scenes, dialogues, characters, and of course the almost God-like perpective of the narrator. How will that story be told? And how will that story resonate with the reader?
I had a dream last night of a somewhat recurring theme. The theme has to do with moving out. In this dream, I went over to visit the house where I last lived, and discovered that I had left a bunch of stuff which I had entirely forgotten about. There was a stack of piano music I had left behind. And then, in the room which had previously been my own, I had left a ridiculous amount of my personal possessions. A huge dresser with clothing I had totally forgotten I owned, bookcases with many, many books, shelves with ceramic precious moments figurines, and other annoying clutter. The new roomate that had moved into my old room had not even moved in her own stuff yet, because my stuff was taking up so much of the space.
So, in my dream, I kept making trip after trip to this house, carrying load after load of my stuff out of it. There were obstacles. I couldn't seem to get anyone to help me. And people and events kept trying to snag my attention away from the task I desparately wanted to complete.
