Chemo Brain seems to be a common denominator among CPs. Even if you don't get nauseated, fatigued, whatevs, you'll get chemo brain. Meaning, you'll be in competition with your parents in the categories of:
• repeating yourself ad nauseam
• forgetting where you put things, consequently you may find boxes of tissues in your fridge
• forgetting what day it is and what you did the day before
• forgetting what you said to which person, hence, you'll begin to preface your sentences with, "Stop me if I've told you this already."
• confusing your calendar even when you things down

Case in point. Yesterday, 3:08 p.m., text message from my masseuse. "Are you coming?"

Fuck. I looked at my Filofax, which said Friday at 3 p.m. I called her, apologized profusely, blamed it on chemo brain and rescheduled for Friday. I went back and checked my texts, thinking the appt mishap was her mistake. Nope. Chemo braniac here transposed the days. I've forgotten about lunches, doctors' appointments, you name it. I forget complete phone conversations. Pothead + Alzheimer's patient=yours truly.

Speaking of which, I made some killer pot brownies yesterday. I doubled the amount of weed, and my dealer gave me high-grade as opposed to highest-grade.

And, this is the kicker, my dealer is now looking out for me regarding my baking.

"You know, Steph, I was thinking, since you're baking this instead of smoking it, we should really get you some mid-grade Jamaican stuff instead of my top-of-the-line-stuff."

"Really? Hmm. I haven't dealt with regs in so long that I didn't even think about that."

"Yeah, I almost feel guilty selling you this kind of stuff when you're just baking it. I can get you Jamaican for around $100 an ounce."

"Seriously? Bring it on!"

I had that MUGASCAN (sp) today. It measures the way your blood flows through your heart or something like that. It was nothing, not even worth writing about. I'm off to sanitize my apartment for the 3rd time this week.