My great and terrible vacation (Patreon)

I'm back at the office! It's been a solid month off of work and social media, so going back online feels like being a baby fawn on ice.

My grand vacation plan was to go to a yoga and meditation camp in Mexico for two weeks and properly disconnect. But right before I jumped on the plane I got some bad news from my doctor. Something I haven't talked a whole lot about is that I still have a lot of brain tumor left. There were parts that were too dangerous to remove, so the neurologist left them there since Brian* is a benign and unambitious fucker.

And now it seems like he has grown. It's not urgent, but I will need radiation therapy and further treatment. So there I am, yoga mat and airplane tickets in my hands, reinvigorated brain tumor in my head. But I can't not go. This is what I've been looking forward to for weeks. So I decide to travel there anyway. 

The yoga retreat is in this tiny quaint coastal village that you can only get to by boat. There are palm trees, parrots and hammocks, fresh fruits and limited internet connection. Heck yes.

But I have barely thrown my bag on the floor before I get told that I should go swim in the ocean, because the negative ions in the water will help cleanse my energy fields. And that tonight we are doing breathing exercises to align the crystals in our pectoral glands so that we can vibrate in frequency with the universe on a quantum physics level. Oh gosh. This is not what I signed up for.

I'm not sure I can handle two weeks of this. I need to get out of here. So I tell the owner that I had brain surgery earlier this year, I got some bad news right before my travels, and that I should go home for continued treatment. He takes a seat, adjusts his flowy linen pants, and looks at me in silence. Finally, he says "Do you really think you can get better treatment at a hospital than you can get here? You need to find what it is that has happened in your life or what it is that you've done that has enabled for this brain tumor to grow"

Holy. Fuck. Please. Get. Me. Out. Of. Here. I was stuck in a remote New Age hell, an hour boat ride from the closest city, with a guy who claims that he has cured cancer. What the fuck. None of the Yelp reviews said "great food and clean restrooms, but beware of a complete disregard of medical professionals and science."

I didn't calm down until my airplane landed back in San Francisco a few hours later. I was back home eleven days earlier than I had anticipated, panically texting my friends to meet up for dinner so that I could shake off this creepy cult feeling. I have never experienced anything like it. I don't believe in auras, but please stay far away from mine, thank you.

Anyway. After that I stayed in San Francisco, trying to find things to do. I refurbished and repainted an old desk. Sewed some curtains out of Turkish towels. Cooked food. Climbed and hung out with friends. Tried not to think about Brian and my upcoming radiation treatment. Wore a red hairband for Christmas and wondered what it is that has caused the crystals in my pectoral gland to be so fucking off.

My new desk. Made custom little handles out of copper pipes too

Version 5 of my new curtains. Sewed them out of blackout fabric and these towels.

Got so bored I even started drawing random little things, like this bread bag tie.

Proof of red Christmas hairband.

So we'll see when I have to start my radiation treatment. I'll know more by the end of this week. Honestly, I don't feel too shabby about it. Brian is like a mediocre musician living off a one-hit wonder. This new growth stint feels like him desperately releasing a Christmas album because he ran out of money. Nobody's buying it, Brian. And so the unsolicited adventure continues. 

What did you do during the holidays? It's good to be back. I've missed you.

- S

* Just feel like I need to clarify that Brian is the name of my brain tumor, not my neurologist