Got up, got out of bed, went to the drawer and took my meds. As always I wished that I could have a smoke, but I can’t do that any more. What a drag it is getting old. What drugs one takes getting old. What would Elvis have done? But thank heavens for the NHS – in the USA I’d be dead. So I can’t complain and I cope. Refuse to mope, although processes are slowing. But I hope. It’s been hard to do all that was expected of me, write a new thread of demented fiction, write a review of Bob’s Tempest, write a bit of a song, and keep up the Doc40 posts. Oh yes my friends, I write. I write so I’m still in the vanguard of the charge but sometimes I must slow to a canter and catch my breath. Last week for example, I missed the chance to comment on Mitt Romney’s problem with the airplane window not opening. Damn! I cursed. Maybe it’s my overwhelming ego claiming that the world can’t get along with me, but, on the other hand, why should I give it the luxury?
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The secret word is Medicine