The Day before Tomorrow

I have attempted to be normal today, doing normal things, going about my normal business.

It is, of course, Tuesday. It should be Monday but Bank Holidays always put me off my stroke...

So today is my last chance at being un-Domestos-ed, unsick, unshaky, unfucked up. I have done rather well, even managing to buy the ingredients and make some chocolate biscuit cake (you know, the one that you put in the fridge to set and is a zillion calories a piece). It is to take with me for the Nursey Bernards within the confines of the West Wing. I am hoping chocolate biscuit cake will make them nicer to me...make no mistake, I know chocolate and thoughtfulness goes a long way in the NHS.

Best friend is coming over later on to crash at mine. The logistics of getting to Domestos City and the West Wing are not simple...Best Friend is driving. She lives nearer the hospital than me...but if I drive to hers and then am very poorly, how do I get my car from hers to mine? Thus, she is crashing at mine. You see, this cancer treatment thing is complicated...

I have also sped-read a book I ordered called Chemotherapy: A Survivor's Guide. It is written by two cancer nurses from California. I have learnt more from that book in 20 minutes than anything I have had from anyone over here...it has settled me a little. I fully recommend it to anyone who is about to embark on the Fight Club circuit.

That's it really. I am not feeling particularly talkative, witty or sarcastic this evening. I feel I ought to write something, just in case you guys think I have kicked the bucket/stepped in front of a bus/bought that round-world-ticket and fucked off. I have been tempted. I still am.

As it is, I think I am going to raid the Nursey Bernard chocolate biscuit cake tin and curl up with Sky news channel and let them bore me with coverage of the upcoming General Election...

So long, farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, goodnight...