I’ve been rather quite of late, no excuse except a general dis-interest in all things thanks to the effects of chemotherapy. I sleep a lot and dream things that if I could only remember them clearly enough would keep Doctor Who in storylines forever. It’s the drugs I’m sure though I’ve always had weird dreams. Whenever people wish me well and hope my dreams come true, they are in fact encouraging me to walk naked through a room full of people into a post apocoliptic landscape that is both Yorkshire and Moscow where the sky rains pepsi and I am desparately trying to type a page of numbers before my bus arrives. The bus is a plane, is a bird, is an elevator hanging by a thread overlooking downtown Manhatten and I am trapped with Michael Stipe and a bag of jellyfish! Discuss!
So anyway I’ve been doing very little except reading and lying down. My Mother and sister are big fans of the crime fiction genre, the more gory and descriptive the better. They send me their offcasts and I devour them in a day or two which might also explain my current demeanour. I should perhaps be reading something light and fluffy with a rainbow at the end.
How different we look without hair? I’m not completely bald, still enough fuzz on there to make me human Velcro with everything from loose threads to pollen finding me rather attractive. Folks who choose to have their heads shaved to this degree must be slightly masochistic because it prickles when you put your head on a pillow and it’s amazing how cold your head feels without a blanket of hair. On a good note, haven’t had to shave my legs in weeks!
