Draino

It is the monday before. The monday before the tuesday. The tuesday that marks the second installment of chemotherapy. Monday's have a different glow. Monday's (well every second monday) is performed with a knot in the stomach of the impending Tuesday. Monday's don't speak of fear or even anxiety but just a quiet hum of sadness.

I explained to a few friends that chemotherapy was like drinking draino. Draino that is just sitting under the kitchen bench in arms reach. A small enough quantity to make yourself sick for a few days if ingested, possibly cause slight and permanent damage to a few organs but ultimately not enough to kill you. Like in the movie heathers were she washes down teen angst and a sense of the unbearable this draino is supposedly doing me good. The draino is 'saving my life'.

So I sit on the eve of the tuesday listening to the dirty three and awaiting a few quests that my housemate is having over for dinner. Like chit chat and banter and then possibly an early night to prepare for if that is possible the inevitable.

The draino......