"Sing you to sleep, a sleep you'll never wake from. Sing you to coma so to speak..."

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*dribbles*zzz*my eyes don't shut when I sleep, how weird*zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*i dream about weird things like last night I had an arm made of lego...*zzzzzzzzzzzz WAKE UP AND WRITE YOUR BLOG POST FOR GOD'S SAKE WOMAN "But my legssss hurttttttt" Stop complaining! It's not as if you've got cancer or anything! Um?

Argh, I need to stop doing this to myself. Having too much fun, then feeling like death. Three cities, four days. Derby, London, Sheffield. Why?!? Why can I not accept Constanze is an invalid now? I suppose because IT'S WORTH IT! Ha! No pain, no gain. I'd rather have these extremities than just sit at home with a bit of backache. It all averages out the same. The sin wave of fun. The cos wave of pain. Tan wave of tiredness, where it goes all infinite on us, that's the sleeping, and when it's minus, it's where I'm upside down in bed. Anyway, enough with the maths, already, tell us the goss Constanze, tell us the GOSS!

A few days ago I had another one of my 'famous' moments... I was innocently browsing
the second hand things and stuffs of Chesterfield market, when a woman came over and enthusiastically said hello. I looked just puzzled at her, which was probably a bit rude come to think of it... She then said "Doctor Dalley", and it all came back to me. She was one of my waiting room chat buddies, people look so different outside the hospital, so much brighter and happier. She said last time she'd seen me what I'd said to her had been inspiring, which was very nice and kind of her, but I can't for the life of me remember what this life inspiring advice was. :S . Oops. She mentioned something I said about not wanting to go to support groups because when I've spent all day in the hospital being all cancery, the last thing I want to do is go and sit in a room of cancery people. My whole life isn't cancer, good lord, etc. Aside from that, I'm clueless. But yes, it's smilesome to know that everything that comes out of my mouth isn't waffle and sometimes makes others so... Eee...

No hospital visits to report. I have been wonderfully free. To be honest, there's not a lot they can treat me for now, it's all just waiting for me bone marrow to get nice and juicy. And my stomach and sexy menopause, but they're not as important in the big scale of things and life and whatnot.

I can however report tiredness like no-one should ever feel. I met up with that very impressive specimen of a human being Eleanor Bacchus in Derby on Saturday, went to old London Town on Saturday, and today I studied teapots in Sheffield, so any hope of awakeness for the rest of the week can be forgotten. Not that I ever know awakeness, this is just awakeness on my rubbishy scale, where my awake is your knackered. And my knackered is your asleep. And my asleep is your coma.

Today was good. I visited my favorite piece of Schist, ate lots of edamame and sushi, bought postcards and went to a tea exhibition. Now I am going to make it perfect by going to bed for at least 17 hours of sleep. Mmm, 17, zzzzzzzzzz....

Laterssssssssss folksieszzzzzzzzzzz.

xXXxxzzzXzzzxxXXx

P.s I am tired. Hot Water Bottle is god. Awake is for uncool people.

P.p.s I hope you are all going to Nicky's party down Magdalen way. I will be there. Maybe dressed as a naked superwoman. Kekko Kamen, no less. I am the best person that ever did live. Live asleep, anyway.