Author: Jackie Pick

Jackie Pick is a former teacher and current writer living in the Chicago area. She is a contributing author to multiple anthologies, including Multiples Illuminated, So Glad They Told Me: Women Get Real about Motherhood, Here in the Middle, as well as the and the literary magazines The Sun and Selfish. She received Honorable Mention from the Mark Twain House and Museum for her entry in the Royal Nonesuch Humor Writing Competition. Jackie is a contributing writer at Humor Outcasts, and her essays have been featured on various online sites including McSweeney's, Belladonna Comedy, Mamalode, The HerStories Project, and Scary Mommy. A graduate of the University of Chicago and Northwestern University, Jackie is co-creator and co-writer of the award-winning short film Fixed Up, and a proud member of the 2017 Chicago cast of Listen To Your Mother.

2012 Goals — Week Who Knows?

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I’m starting to think I am incapable of reaching this year’s ambitious goals. I am happy I’m writing again. I am happy when I get a picture of the kids. I am happy I am going through the Artist’s Way journey. I am frustrated I can’t lose those last few pounds. I am frustrated when I don’t meet goals.

I feel like a loser.

I can honestly say that not meeting goals is 99% of the time due to lack of time, of prioritizing my kids/family. The not producing a play? I wasthisclose. And I will try again.

So my timelines may not be correct.

And today, my only goal is living.

I’ve had pain in my left arm for over a year, and it’s been getting worse. I went to a doctor today, who sent me for x-rays immediately. (Doing anything “immediately” that is not scheduled is a Herculean task and I thank Huzzy for taking on the kids while I went to the hospital.)  The xrays showed nothing, so I’m off to get a CT scan on Monday. That leaves a lot of worry time.

It could be cancer.

Of course the doctor didn’t say that. He’s not a fool. But I know my family history and the night sweats aren’t a good sign here.

And I’m scared.

Sad that I’m honestly hoping that all I have is a disgusting sac of goo in my arm.

That’s like, the worst goal ever.