Hot and Restless Under a Lightning Sky

Thursday, December 1, 2011: 11:26pm

From my third-storey loft, the breeze in the palms is rushing furiously. The storm, so promised, has arrived, perhaps, as I sit down with my black plastic friend, the laptop. Driven from bed again...

Another addiction to add to the infinite list. Blogging!

Writing has been a favourite escape as early as I can recall but many substitutes have pushed it aside over the years. Fags (ciggies), booze, relationships, with friends and partners, food, Heaven Forbid, exercise ... (all of them I have let go, well, not food, but that is being taken away now too .... darn and drat)

The German naked ghost, husband Michael, has emerged from our sanctuary bedroom to take in cool lounge room air. At last. Where is the rain?

Coming?

Why am I awake at this ridiculous hour rambling when I should, could, ought, am supposed to be asleep, according to last week's shrink, who said I have stayed so well for years because, "You keep your circadian rhythms." A way of saying I go to bed at 10.43pm every night.

I am also obsessed with jig-saw puzzles, TV programmes, Sudoko, crosswords, knitting, watching ants crawl up a wall, (sometimes two at a time, not ants, diversions).  Anything that allows my mind to be distracted from reality.

Last night was difficult, too, to stay in bed, though I fought it, meditated and refrained. I dearly wanted to rise and lift the black lid, push the power buttons on, had anyone read my blog??? Yesterday, I was excited. My brother Chris had rung from Brisbane, something that only happens at Christmas and possibly my birthday in June. This time he was curious about my health ...

Cravings... Thunderings. Pearl Cat is also excited on the window ledge studying the weather. It has been a torrid-hot evening and day.

Christmas is nigh. "What shall I send for Amy?", Chris leaves a message on a phone I rarely answer in time or decidedly don't. Voice mail and texts are invaluable. A fantastic innovation. Besides mobile reception by the sea is woeful.

Pouring rain has started, a loud, luscious, tropical downpour, roaring and shaking the trees. It smells wet and green.

What can I say? My new full-time job is swishing and swashing my mouth out with bi-carb and brine umpteen times a day, brushing my teeth, gently, applying mousse afterwards. Taking multiple cold showers (hot showers are out) - the weather has been favourable, soon to clean only with Sorbolene, slopping on moisturiser, guzzling the insides of my pink glass bottle. Refilling it many times a day.

I had a first attempt at stacking the pop sticks in the left side of my mouth to increase the gap, to reduce the trismus. OW! Five minutes was enough. Endless, endless, endless. Repetitions and so necessary. Handfuls of pills, as many as I can swallow and remember to take, for the mouth pain, gout stabbings, mood stabilisation. Food is dodgy, monotonous, ridiculous or, at worst, excruciating. Garlic needs to be cooked. Same for spring onions. Don't even go near chilli or spices. All pieces need to chopped mighty fine. Eggs are good. How many ways can you cook egg? I had mashed potato for tea one night, sloppy and lumpy, yet nourishing and filling. A drama; home-Dad, Michael, had been too tired to exert himself over a hot saucepan of boiled potatoes. I couldn't lift myself off the couch.  Let's just say, love did not find the kitchen on this occasion. A better evening was the famous carrot and ginger soup affair; super yummy but can't be stomached too often. Boredom. I'm thinking of trying pancakes ...

Ventured into a larger body of water today. The local pool. Having suspended my gym membership till March, I suddenly craved, ... Cracking thunder preceded by blinding light. Baby, terrified, emerges from her room for a reassuring cuddle.

The weather is spitting on me now.

Where was I? Needing exercise, all of sudden. Felt like a large blob, despite dropping three kilos in the week after the biopsy. Might have had a bit to do with the pain I took force feeding myself Turkish Delight, Lemon Cream biscuits and soft drink, last night. So Amy and I donned our new togs and toddled off to the pool. A sweaty 15-minute walk. On arrival, we were told, "the water is piss-warm". Nice. Anyway, we plunged in with only one pair of goggles between us. Such is the sensibility of a 9-year-old. It was lovely, so long as we didn't move. Two and half laps, had me puffing and feeling weird. All this chemical water infiltrating passages where doctors and their scopes or scalpels had so recently been. Phlegm surfaced and I decided that was probably enough exertion for one afternoon. Certainly with the head submerged. Amy was also tired, still being on anti-biotics for her recent infection. It was a short visit. Revealing and worthwhile I feel.

What else have I done? Further pushed the priority housing issue along seeking the support of our local MP, also a friend and fellow member of the church I have turned up at for about 20 years. Long time. Had a gorgeous extended chat with  BFF school-friend, Sues. Managed to grab the phone in time AND find a connection on the back balcony. She may visit Darwin in the first half of next year. Lovely. Took another step along the path to setting up Amy's 10th birthday party in January, including asking for my second round of chemotherapy to be deferred to the following day.

Now I really should be in bed. It's Friday December 2, 2011: 0039. Happy Birthday fellow blogger and dear friend David.

Good night. Over and out and may I rest in peace. Amen