Friday rocks up quickly at 07:50 today which means I have to get my arse in gear to be the GP to have my bloods done at 09:25 and I need a shower. So downing my morning meds before going to the GP I set off in sunshine although there is a hint of autumnal nip in the air. I no sooner check in and the nurse calls me forward to have my bloods taken. I have to say my GP vampire is an expert, she always gets my vein first time and quickly. So I am in and out in no time. I decide that I am feeling relatively chipper that I will get a paper and go the village café for a sausage and egg baguette and a hot chocolate. Having borrowed a pen from the owner I settle down and do the crosswords for the day. No Google required as I breeze through them, chomping on my baguette as I go. With food mission accomplished I return home.

I start to draft the blog and as promised yesterday I include yesterdays poems.

413

Damn me Red Bull
from the fridge 
is good.
After rowing a session 
and doing Tesco,
sipping slowly
with my feet on 
the electric reviver
life pauses for a moment.
I look around and see
laptops to the front,
books and papers to the left,
and the office mutterings
of my partner, like water,
seeping in from the right.
It occurs to me 
that I never retired,
not really.
I'm still organising,
writing and trying
to be be productive.
I guess I never
had the nerve
to go off grid,
make dream catchers
or indulge in crystals.
The Real World impinges 
no matter how I plug my ears
with music, podcasts and stories.
Keeping busy seems an answer
but that just pushes the anxiety,
the worry of the scythe
into the back box of a 
crowded head.
Its tricky having trained 
in all the illusions of humans
to fool myself, I am well aware
of how my inner pixies
play and hide,
leaving me with pictures
of a world that may
or may not count as real.
I hear a voice say;
"It is what it is",
but its not really.
It is what I construct it as
and there is nothing rational 
going on in that department.
Too much data through 
too few synapses 
has left its mark 
on a personal universe
that thinks this is poetry.
A universe that appears
to have no doors
or fire exit.
How am I supposed
to make meaning
of all this?
such inadequate tools
or am I the poor workman
seeking solace in blame
of my own inadequacies?
How do people remember so much,
recall vast tracts of beautiful 
words or ornate formulae, 
or make links and leaps of vision
that transcend the data.
Only sometimes when 
I cry at the heights of opera
do I get an inkling
that something is out there
or perhaps within
that has a hope 
of knowing what 
this thing is,
whatever "Thing" 
means.
Red Bull may give me Wiings
but no moment of
Ah Ha!

                                                             413 12-09-20

I was not sure about this first off but its grown on me overnight. If its going to ever be published it will be a way off as I will need to write enough for another collection.

My partner and I go for a late lunch at one of our favourite tea rooms and talk about future planning and things like Christmas. I manage to get the them to make me a smoothie using pineapple juice rather than apple juice as the base, apple juice just makes me throw up, it is a rare treat. Of course we cannot resist sharing some lemon cheesecake. Once home I seek to rest. I stick my feet on the electric foot revivor and while my feet and calfs get gently electrocuted I curate yesterdays poem, making sure it gets stored on my “All I Have” file. Once my feet are tingled fully I shall hoover round my office end of the sofa and prepare for the weekend.

The evening comes around and I am not hungry having eaten well during the day but eat anyway knowing I will regret it if I do not. I settle down to some athletics and more Inspector Lynley mysteries before thinking about heading for bed. Night meds and a nasal strip is the new simplified routine which appears to be working reasonably well, but tonight there is a set of blood results to come in, which they should do just after midnight. I am hoping that my PSA has staid relatively stable and that all the hospital experience of one off drugs has not disrupted my arithmetic too much. I forgot to drink a lot of water so my platelets will be down, but if that is all, I will be well pleased.

STOP PRESS: THE BLOODS ARE IN. IN GENERAL THEY ARE OKAY BUT THE PSA HAS RISEN BY 0.5, WHICH IS NOT GOOD. SO I PROBABLY NEED TO GET BACK ON THE ENZALAMIDE AS SOON AS I CAN. IT ALL SEEMS STRAIGHT FORWARD.