It is with incredible sadness that I pass along the information that the amazing beautiful light that was Michelle Dobrawsky passed away at about 3:45 today. My Love, you will be missed. -Ryan Shellito

Cancer tired is not normal tired.  Cancer tired is having a more or less wide-awake brain, watching your body glue itself to the sofa incapable of movement.  It’s being frantic about all you want or need to do while the rest of you wants to buy sneakers on QVC.   It’s just all wrong.

Not only am I freaking out about getting my test results, but I’m in full-tilt Oxycontin withdrawal.

I’m eating tiny unsalted pretzels, drinking pineapple juice and twitching generally.

I usually don’t ask this kind of stuff, but next Tuesday I have a PET scan and Friday I will get the results.  So, well, can you send prayers/thoughts/affirmations/good vibes to your favorite deity/idol/skull of Del Close on my behalf?  I’d really appreciate it.

Thanks, kids.  Your support means lots to me.

My punky (not really, just mohawked) nephew, who is 9 and just too cool for words, kept asking me if I wanted to lay down.  Just casually, in the middle of conversations.  But later I thought about it, and dissolved.  This kid loves me.

So my heavily fragmented digestive system, for no discernible specific reason, is in full rebellion.  I’ve tried it all to feel better -

food (icepops, mostly)

drink (soy milk)

drugs (whatever’s in the box)

sobbing (not effective)

puzzles (also not effective)

blogging (completely ineffective).

When I finally get the script for the inevitable solo show, “GUTS - The Musical” (Working title only), I’ll need someone to steer me right.

Keep in mind that I am heavily influenced by “All that Jazz,” the Fosse movie by Fosse where he choreographs his own death as a giant production number.  Genius! Go Netflix it now.

In this spirit, I will be casting the “Cancer Dancers,” in full 80s Chorus Line regalia, gold spangled leotards and snappy hats.  5-6-7-8!

And instead of Jessica Lange as the guardian angel, I’ll probably just use my recently deceased mom.

Fun times, people! Who’s with me?

Read a copy gifted to me by the X.  Not as bad as I expected; much more relatable that I’d been led to believe by subsequent press.  Also, it’s in graphic-novel format, which I can’t resist.

So I was watching VH1 Top artists (yes, my brain is on idle) and it made me think of my mom.

My mom was into concerts.  Big, crazy rock concerts.  Well into her 60s.  About the same age as Mick Jagger - she saw the Stones numerous times.  She’d leave early, to beat the crowds, but boy did she love Mick.

As one of her friends said in a card to me, she was one of a kind.