Thursday, 19 January 2012

Relay GB

(this is not my xray but might as well be)

If I wasn't hobbling (mentally and physically), I would be in this.

The object is to run around the perimeter of Britain in stretches of 26 miles. So, one marathon at a time. It can be done in teams, so snails like me could run a quarter - or maybe a half - and someone else would take over the rest. Or a team of 26 people could run a mile each. Not a bad idea if you never run and your friends will shell out cash just to see you in a pair of shorts and trainers, nevermind shuffling along at faster-than-walking pace for a few minutes. 

My thesis and my hurt toe are in my way, or I'd have been harassing people for donations long ago. Who knows - it might work out yet. I need some power healing.

If you can't run, simply Give them (Brain Tumour UK) your money. Give them your money. Give them your money.

Or give something via my page. You know. The one in the side bar.

Or just give me money. I need to eat if I want to power heal. I need to pay the electricity and gas bills too. Patrons, please.

Wednesday, 18 January 2012

Today has Returned

I thought it might be a nice day to go out and slither around the city in a menacing way. I caked a lot of makeup on my eyes and adjusted my hair to a corresponding super-sleekness which would have looked completely normal were it not a fading turquoise. I'll show them, I thought. I pulled out an elegant skirt. I couldn't be bothered. Instead I put on comfy stretchy tights and a longish shirt because I have fleshed-out slightly this season from not running or anything due to over-stressing, insomnia and busting up my toe, well, any way I still look okay enough. It's too cold to not have a coat covering it all up anyway. Out I go to glare at the world. I didn't want to. I bumbled about. Made some soup. Pressed some keys on the piano and then on the computer and then thought about going out and talked to my sister who didn't even want to hear about how today is the fourth anniversary of my surgery, It's in the past, and whatever and &c. Well, I don't know how to feel about it, is all. Some of the makeup ran a little. I found a number of things funny. Then I dreamed of bubble baths and had some chocolate-covered biscuits. I decided I didn't need to be menacing and what about something nice that I never get to do like seeing the exhibitions I can never afford. It was too late - rush hour and places of interest were shutting by then and I didn't really want to gift myself with anything else to make myself feel better about being alive after all and why bother with ludicrous glares at people who have nothing to do with me. There's nothing to celebrate and there's nothing to grieve over. It's another day, it's almost done now, and that's all. I was fed spaghetti and it was very nice indeed.