Aug 2008
31

Roundup

Firstly, I’ve just realised that roundup is the name of the weed killer I can still smell on my arms. I think I need to go scrub a couple of lays of skin off before I go to bed.

Right, so then, what has happened in the world of me?

My doctor’s stuff that I was obsessing about was as scary as it could be but in ways I hadn’t anticipated. My heart seems to be fine and my glucose response is fine, so it looks like heart was a false alarm (even if my BP is high) but my results came back with fucked liver enzymes. Seeing as how Pop’s pancreatic cancer was diagnosed from “fucked liver enzymes” this didn’t scare me at all. Oh no…

Apparently the likely cause is either random variations (so a retest on wednesday) or fatty liver, which sounds highly pleasant. So more tests on Wednesday, a week for them to remember what to do with blood and then back to see the doc and try (again) to get an increase in meds. It’s not looking promising, but I think I need them to stop my stomach lining from eating itself or me killing the boss. Considering how I warned him I wasn’t doing overtime and not doing stress, he’s not exactly made things easy for me.

Last night was fun. HelenFin came round for a little celebration and we hit the town for a night of drunken debauchery. Well… kindof. Not nearly enough alcohol was drunk and too much time was spent talking about life, the universe and everything, and not nearly enough time staring at behinds. I tell you, her tastes are slipping… not only was there very little pleasant scenery, there was a surprising lack of slappers to be spotted too. So we retired to an old man’s pub and drank there til midnight.

’twas a great night and much of the world was put to rights. When I take my rightful role as benevolent dictator of the Commonwealth, I think I may have found my minister for ethics and alcohol.

Many conclusions were reached. The most conclusive one being that no-one in their right mind should be friends with anyone who even knows a larper, D&Der or roleplayer (ahem…), but that it would be quite cool to go to a Renaissance Fair and run about like a prat in silly clothing. My only problem is that I’d spend all my time pretending to be Brian Blessed

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