Instead of throwing myself out of the bedroom window in utter despair, I’ve decided that I’d rather drink tea and write my book. It has been pointed out that depression doesn’t suit me half so well as absolute blind fury (hence the picture of Dark Phoenix being, um, Dark Phoenix). Besides, it’s not very productive, being dead, and I think my whizzing brain would become bored with it very quickly. I’ve also proven to be
reasonably possibly sort of pretty much immortal over the last few years, so dying seems like it’s too much hard work for this space-loving nerd.
I’m not sure what it’s going to end up being like. It’s more than likely going to turn out as meandering and accident prone as my good self, but I hope it will amuse people. I seem to be at the height of my sarcastic and facetious wit when I’m fighting the Black Dog, so now seems as good a time to start as any.
I had to attend a hospital appointment today, for the annual ultrasound on my liver. It’s still there. Obviously it’s in Really Terrible Shape (why else would I need regular ultrasounds on it?) but it’s not attempted to crawl out of my ear or anything ridiculous like that. So part of me is sensible, at least.
Whilst awaiting blood tests, I began reading The Legends Of River Song, which features a collection of Doctor Who writers including my rather wonderful friend Jenny Colgan. If you’re not averse to gasping, giggling and crying silent tears of laughter in a busy waiting room, buy her stuff. Really. Because she had me doing all three, and because of that another woman waiting to see the vampire nurse was also giggling at my reactions – which I have no issue with, since I’m a walking disaster area and am used to people laughing at me anyway (although it’s better when they laugh with me; even if they’re not sure why).
Ideally, I need to be constantly reminding myself that, in spite of various issues with my brain and body, I do have a role to play in this game called Life. It’s not my “cripness” that people find amusing: it’s me, and for most of the right reasons. Whether people know quite what to make of me or not (usually not, but they seem to like me anyway) I make them smile, and somehow brighten their day. I don’t even need to be wearing my immense Fourth Doctor scarf or my Jayne Cobb hat to do it. I just need to be me.
Besides, I have been reliably informed this afternoon that jumping out of bedroom windows is bad luck, or something. So tea and writing it is, then.