Sitting in a sandpit, life is a short trip.

So, it's late at night and I feel about as gloomy as the shadows in the garden, but it's that kind of humorous and vaguely ridiculous kind of gloomy that only a Constanze can feel...

...So, henceforth, today has been nominated as my quarterly feel hilariously melancholy day, mainly because I have an inability to feel properly miserable like other people. I more think I should be sad and sit about eating crisps and kind of am a bit sad I suppose but more because I'm not as sad as I should be because I have the emotional spectrum of a wall. Actually no, not the spectrum, the diversity, I mean, walls are always in about the same state, kind of wall-y, you know, bricky and stoney and concretey and they're pretty cool with it and don't really change an awful lot, they don't just wake up one morning and feel that being made 50% of cheese is a great plan. In English, that means I am jolly for 95% of the time, and the other 5% is spent either being a bit grumpily jolly or a bit high off some sugar. Anyway, what was I supposed to be talking about? Dearie me, it is late. I'm so tired I feel like my eyelashes have elephants trampolining on them...

What's wrong with today, I hear you say. Well, it just seems to have been saving itself up, all the bad schizz. I found out today that one of my cancery friends had died, I mean, I wasn't as close to her as I was to Jamie or anything, but it's still very weird... And speaking of Jamie, the anniversary of his death is slowly creeping up on me...

I also watched a program about hospital food on Channel 4 (http://www.channel4.com/programmes/dispatches/episode-guide/series-81/episode-1 if you're interested), which possibly reminded me a bit too much of when I kept nearly dying of not being able to eat. Hospital food is truely appalling and there really is no excuse for it, I mean, I could make a decent meal with the money they get (and I can burn a salad), so why can't they? Food doesn't matter much when you're in for two nights like most people, but when you're in for weeks and weeks... It gets pretty traumatising to say the least. I mean, I don't mind the whole cancer bit, but that chicken and mushroom lasagna will haunt me until I go to my grave. And probably still after that, I'll end up being followed around by some grey and sloppy fungi and reformed beak while I party it up in heaven with Caligula and Dostoyevsky...

... Now I've put it like that it actually sounds quite fun. I'd pay good money to see Raskolnikov being chased around by a zombie chicken...

Got to go. Both Constanze and her laptop have a low battery. That and it's up at 6am for a loverly trip to the beautiful Hallamshire. The beautiful Hallamshire that is alowly becoming my only love. Leukaemia may be wonderful and easy, but matters of the heart my friends are not...

Goodnight.

xXxXx