Saturday 21 June 2008

The longest day.

Summer solstice, longest day of the year. I've been up for an hour and a half and already I know that this is the bleakest, lowest, blackest, most miserable day of my life. ('Good morning, readers. Today we're coming to you from the depths of hell. Today's 'Alright Tit' is brought to you by the letters B and C and the number 2.')

Last night I sent my parents home, thinking that P & I needed time alone. Turns out we do need it, but actually with the safety of knowing that they're around too, fussing in the background. We're heading up to theirs immediately.

Today I'm struggling to locate my fighting force. I literally cannot cope. I've probably said that sentence sometime before – perhaps after the death of my dear Nan & Grandad... revising for my A-levels... just before the play-off final... or when I once discovered my boyfriend in bed with his ex. Whenever I've said it before, I didn't mean it. I did cope then. Right now I'm just not.

I find myself actually looking forward to surgery next week. I WANT THIS THING OUT OF ME. Cut me open, take my nipple, take the lot, scar me right up. Just get. it. out. 

As terrifying as it seemed yesterday, right now I want to be in chemo, feeling like shit and losing my lovely long hair. ANYTHING must be better than being in the midst of these dark, pathetic, can't-do-anything-about-it days. And please don't take that sentence about my hair lightly. My hair is my everything (ironically, I've always said that my boobs are the only other thing I wouldn't change about myself, but sod that now, they can go). My hair! My wonderful, wonderful hair! My hair is where I carry all of my confidence; the top line in my personal appearance. Anyone who knows me will tell you what a pain in the arse I am when it comes to my hair. Nobody's even allowed to touch it without prior warning, I'm always that conscious of it being nothing less than the best it can be. I'm really not overstating this – my hair is great. What's more, I've finally got it to the right colour and the right length, and I've found my fringe groove, too. But all of it can go now, and the sooner the better, because that'll mean that something's getting fixed. I can't believe I'm even typing this, let alone completely serious about what I'm saying. This is my hair, for crying out loud! But right now, in the miserable meantime, n-o-t-h-i-n-g  i-s  h-a-p-p-e-n-i-n-g and it feels like it's destroying me, tear by salty tear. I need to get this show on the road.

I wish it was last night, when Al brought round videos of the drunken karaoke session on my hen night. For one tiny moment, while laughing at a clip of myself rapping (yes, rapping), I forgot about all of this bullshit. Only for 3 seconds, but it was magnificent. 

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