Insanity looming...

Now, I am not a moaner. But you'd have thought old fate could have cut me some slack, just an ounce... One little, tiny ounce. All I do is try and make some good in the world, and yet the world seems out to get me. With its knarly knashers, knickerbocker glories, seeing the worst in every single thing I say, slicing claws, rolling eyes, Peter Nalich's epic playing, let's just ignore Stanze presence of shoulder related heaviness. Add to that the fact my gran is absolutely convinced I gave myself leukaemia from having a tattoo and wearing nail varnish, and you have a very stressed Stanze...

Oh, you know who you are if you read this. And if you're not reading this, I am sticking stem cell collecting needles in you because they're the biggest and I still have a scar. And I hope you get one too, that spells ANUS out on your head. Oh, maybe I don't, I couldn't wish anything cancer related on anyone. Hitler maybe. But he already gets pinapples up his arse every day. Nah, give him the chemos. One for every Russian, one for every Jew.

And, I'm single again thanks to our old friend geography. Turns out cancer and Switzerland never were a good mix. To be fair, there are few things cancer does get on well with. Just pain, annoyance and free bus travel.

The hospital don't seem to want me. After telling me I would be "closely monitored" they've sent me home with no appointment for three weeks?????? Three weeks?!? I should be a happy bunny, woo, lots of no-needle-time, but that's not really what I call close monitoring. Hence, CONFUSION has set in. And and and the stupid gay doctor managed to write me a prescription for the wrong dose of drugs, another helpful hand provided there. Double the dose, he's given me. I mean, I'm ok checking these things, but for an elderly person on their own, they'd keep taking them, completely unaware... So, I'm going to have to make the four hour round trip to get some new tablets. Greeeeeaaattttt.

Although, to their credit, someone's finally had the nouse to refer me to some form of stomach specialist, before my own digestive system eats me alive. Better sooner than later, because Constanze the stomach is probably going to be less friendly than Constanze the human.

Anyway, I'll stop moaning now. Moaning is NOT sexy, as the title of this blog promises. Please don't report me to trading standards.

Off to school tomorow to visit that old hellhole of an institution. Only made good by the epic selection of mathematical teachers. And those chocolate doughnuts covered in icing powder that the stoooopid government outlawed along with having any fun when you're at school ever.

And now, away I go. To find batteries and play loud Serbian music and learn more Russian.

xXXxXxXxXXx