The Fan

Getting ready for a night out is something that comes rarely to me these days. So rarely in fact that the thought of a ‘night out’ brings such panic that one purchases two outfits for it (the final choice was successful FYI). What should one listen to these days as they yank their tights up? Should one even wear a tight? Who am I kidding, I would have worried about that regardless.

I am quite thankful that Housemate was out this evening for the process, though I wager, not as much as he would have been. I was present when I tried on more than the two outfits whilst downing cider, and it was not pretty.

Out I went though. My first proper night out since I was castrated and I think I have done okay. I stayed out later than I told anybody and myself I would. Apparently, I feel it is acceptable to use myeloma to get what I want now. By want, I mean drinks. Drinks, drinks, drinks. And cheaper taxi fares. Pretty much, I will announce anything if I have had enough drinks if it is to my benefit.

I’m going to feel like death tomorrow and that death is not because I have cancer. All the other people waking up on a Sunday morning feeling like death, will be sad, I may I’ll just feel how somebody my age should feel. The only difference is that they did not need a fan in the event of the hot flush.

I have myeloma, I have had a transplant and I am pissed. It’s pretty fun.

Right now, for sure. Not so much tomorrow.


P.S. I was wearing polyester.