Frailty, thy name is woman.

I have stopped jotting down notes about what to write in my blog and, as a result, I can't remember a thing when it comes to sitting down in front of my computer. Ah well, I guess I'll just have to wing it! I have to say that I think I am deteriorating generally; not only do I have shaky hands, which are much worse when I try putting on make-up, but things just slip out of my mind, literally. Anything interesting which pops into view slithers like a slippery fish, just out of reach. Try as I might, I can't get it to come to the surface, usually until much later, when I'm in bed or lying awake at 3am. Pathetic really.

Today has been a sort of anti-climax, which I wouldn't have believed if anyone had suggested it a couple of months ago. I didn't get much sleep last night, because of having Grandson lying next to me and crying out "No, I don't loike it" at regular intervals. Obviously, it was a recurring bad dream. Each time it happened I was jolted out of a deep sleep and comforted him, only to be jolted again a while later. Consequently I have been on auto-pilot all day, and just longing to close my eyes and doze. Daughter sorted out all her stuff from my loft, which turned out to be far more than I thought I had. We then drove back to the flat and unloaded it so that she can sort it into three piles: charity shop, tip and removals. I bet (privately) that she will end up throwing at least half of it away. If she hasn't looked at it in eighteen months, she doesn't need it. Them's my sentiments. The anti-climax has been the fact that, though I didn't have the chance to celebrate our good news yesterday, I am too tired to do it today. Maybe tomorrow?

Son has been on the phone, and on the internet, with news of a possible flat to buy in London. He certainly doesn't hang about. He, typically, wants to do things to it, like new flooring, carpets, kitchen and bathroom, and was wondering what all this might cost. How long is a piece of string? I just don't have the energy for it at the moment, though. Give me a couple of weeks and I might be able to raise a bit of interest.

My Gay Friend in London has been in touch to say that he really is feeling awful because of the chemo, and that he has the prospect of months more of it to come. I know that I was very fortunate that my brain tumour was not malignant, and therefore I didn't have to have either radiotherapy or chemo-therapy. Just the brain surgery.
The fact that my brain tumour would eventually have killed me because it was pressing on the main artery was just bad positioning! And I was very lucky that it was removed in the nick of time. Strange that Gay Friend should be suffering this now also, because he was around when I had my surgery (before he was gay!), and another friend from then (who lived in the same village) has since also died from a brain tumour. Poor Maggie, I remember that she kept her distance when I was diagnosed, because she was clearly afraid that it might be catching! It was the most awful coincidence that she should eventually have a brain tumour which proved fatal. I do hope that my dear Gay Friend will get lucky.

I must add a footnote about my shaky hands (oh very droll): Aristocratic BF is always commenting on this, and never fails to notice when it is worse. A couple of months ago she asked me if I ever dropped anything, to which I replied, rather sharply, "No, of course not!" Funny though, that since then I have dropped the odd thing (are you reading this Billy?) and I laugh every time it happens - I'm not sure it's because my hands shake, though...