I need a slap, because I seem to be refusing to snap out of whatever big fat crank I’m in at the moment – really losing patience with myself because small problems are being unduly magnified and I’m getting tetchy with my best people. Fucking hate that . . . I think part of the problem is that I see no prospect of rest or change in front of me. And this weekend is already trés chargée, trop chargée, and with things I can’t or simply won’t drop. Especially after the Scissor Sisters cancellation, I need to Shake a Tail.
Of course there are other things preying on my mood, rather more serious. Cancer is one of them. Another friend has been diagnosed with it – no sooner is Carmen fully out of the woods than Miss B. tells me she’s about to start a course of radiotherapy after having gone through the chemo and the boob surgery. I hope everything goes as well for Miss B. as it did for Carmen. In both cases I blame France for their illness.
This also comes hot on the heels of news a much older friend of my family has decided to stop treatment for ovarian cancer – she’s in her late seventies and I suppose the physical toll the treatment wreaks is insupportable to her now, despite her prior good health. Cancer was also a contributing factor to my grandfather’s death – he was diagnosed with a couple different kinds earlier this year that had probably been present in his system for three or four years, but progressed so slowly because of his mighty age.
So cancer is something I’m thinking about a lot. Not so much cancer as a disease, but how people react to it, treat it, try to prevent it . . . it risks becoming a fixed idea. There’s something really barbaric about how cancer is treated. Like old military medicine or something, or the way they treated crazies when everyone was excited about electrocuting each other. I guess part of the puzzle comes in asking what my older friend’s ovaries have in common with Miss B’s young tits – seems to have nothing more in common than HIV and HPV do, so why is the treatment so very similar and why – more importantly from a layperson’s point of view – do we have the same sort of emotional reactions to hearing the name of their disease?
Yeah, so, weeeeeeeeeee! I’m in a pisser.