"Fuck me" I said.
Well. They did.
Entering my second or third week of sleep deprivation, I decided to change tack.
I went back on the drugs three weeks ago.
So now my sanity is assured.
Of course, I still get slightly forgetful spells - as did all the doctors and nurses when I came back to the fold. But hey, we all work in pressurised jobs, so we all suffer from stress.
The MO also gave me some jumbo knock-out drops too. So my sleeping is pretty good. I'm drinking and eating plenty, the jabs are a regular pain in the arse, but my weight remains stable, and I'm going on holiday to the land that has twice saved my life when the chips are down.
What it is to be loved.
I'm hoping to return some of that. In bundles and in spades.
What can I do? What can I do? Live a shitty life until I leave again?
Beats being a shitty person.
I'll have that cup of tea now. I'm sure I'll never amount to much in this world. The sentence has been spoken. The Midwitch Cuckoos said it many years ago, and I can't be bothered to hide any dynamite behind any brick walls any longer. But if it kills me I'll be on that plane to paradise.
I went four months alone. No drugs no help, except occasional decency of the people around me. And my special lady at Universal.
If I had been in Canada - I would be home dry by now.