You ever have those days where you think, “who even cares?”
I’ve been having what’s adding up to many months like that…
It’s not that I don’t think what I do is important. I just think that I could reach more people and get more attention–publicity I guess is what it’s called–and be more “successful” in the eyes of the country and the world–
if I slept with a married politician running for office in a contested state, and put the sex tape on YouTube.
I’ve tried everything else. I’ve written Oprah, Ellen, Sheryl Crowe, Christina Applegate, that E! Entertainment host who got almost the same kind of BC I did (I even sent her a book!) I was in email contact with someone closely connected with Deepak Chopra and Fran Drescher–another celebrity who had cancer (cervical)–and this guy told me “Fran loves your film trailer and wants to speak directly with you.” I got all excited, waited for the email, and waited….and waited…and…
waiting still. Ah, who’m I kidding? She ain’t gonna email.
So as the summer heats up and I get ready to not receive emails from celebrities and others in a position to boost my profile in the world–or the country–or the state–this county–hell, I’ll take the library–I’m gonna do what I should have all along:
I’m gonna get into a scandal.
Maybe I’ll streak naked down the steps of the White House in October clothed in nothing but a pink ribbon. For sensational, how about I call Howard Stern and offer to flash the world my mastectomy scars on national radio. Maybe Rush Limbaugh could have me on to swap stories of pain drugs we’ve had to take. I’ll tell Oprah to forget the Kardashians, I can be trashy: if she interviews me I won’t even wear a bra.
Then Oprah, Ellen, People Magazine, and all the rest of our times’ spotlight-shiners will want to speak to me–you know, after I do something outrageous. Maybe the world would listen too–once I hook them in with the smut–about this struggle with the crap of my life; and I could assure them it can be done–and they can do it too. We don’t need to be famous or infamous to have courage and strength to beat back the “terrible” in life; we just have to show up. And fight.
And in case you think I’m anti-Oprah, Ellen etc., I’m not–I know it isn’t the interviewers making up these stupid rules–it’s the folks who tune in. I haven’t done anything but survive for 8 plus years–what’s sexy about that?
But wait until America’s commander-in-chief shoos me off the property in nothing but my sunblock. That’s when the world will pay attention!
If not, they’ll just have to settle for me living yet another year fighting–8 years so far!—this battle with breast cancer. Scandalous? Negative. Sexy? No. Sensational?
Well… it is for me.