…you have incurable cancer during Covid.

Covid. Cancer. Kids. Comedy. Chemo.  I am 45 and will be extremely lucky to see 47. An alliterative nightmare that has made me crazy and cantankerous.

I don’t gig anymore. I started doing comedy about breast cancer as a way to raise awareness and be creative during 2018 and 2019. I was just starting to test out my new set of material about the incurable aspect when Lockdown began, but laughing about something so awful just doesn’t seem right now. Plus doing comedy about terminal cancer is enough of a challenge without expecting myself to share a mic with 10 possibly infected comedians in a room with 8 people in the audience. There’s death and then there’s comedic death and I know which one I’m more scared of.

I’ve said goodbye to so much lately, not just plans, but long healthy looking hair, a fit body and breasts. Time is your privilege, perspective is mine. Despite the funny memes about the extra hour of daylight saving and inevitable end of year ones that identify our understandable wish to MOVE ON ALREADY and get back to normal, I’m not racing to say goodbye to this year. Yes, 2020 has sucked in so many ways, but it’s also Time. Which, in and of itself is precious. Wishing it away in my position would just be rude.