Thursday and I wake. I drink coffee and finish reading Perfume. Breakfast and meds follow and then I go to the Shed. It feels an age since I was in my Shed. I light the scented candles, turn the heater on and begin to write letters. I am at my writing table for the morning until my partner entices me back to the house with bacon sandwiches. All morning it snows as I sit and write.

The bacon sandwich goes down a treat. I return to the Shed in time to take a call from a friend. We chat for a while and catch up with our situations. It is good to hear someone outside the family and to hear about others lives. I return to writing letters until I can no more. I pack the Shed up and return to the house and go to the post office to send my letters on their way and to stock up on treats. Back home I read the paper and do the crosswords before selecting which poem I am going to take to the Poetry Stanza on Saturday. I am feeling slightly disconnected and select a poem that I wrote as an exercise. I decided to write a poem without the letter “e” in it and let my unconscious decide on the content. I ended up with a typically bony Roland poem about radiotherapy, I think.

My radio
All knobs and dials
FM loud and proud
Blasts out 
And blastomas.
Its slaying a tumour
Its wild and a rumour
that pill and potion
Are in commotion.
Rock and rollology 
Biology and physiology
Burn, scar and cullolgy
On my radiology.
So go man go
And scorch away,
Tomorrows so
Another day.  
Old and gay,
I could spit
This cutting ray
This drill bit 
Sunk within
My skin,
Is no mix,
ain’t no fix.

I send my poem off into cyber space and then I settle down to an evening of football, tuna pasta and finally to draft the blog. I feel that I have done little but feel exhausted and full of stuff washing around in side me waiting for processing. I need to be physical, to train and to submit to the effort to clear my head. I take my meds and go to bed. It all feels a little desperate.