Przecież

A może ja się tu nad sobą użalam? Stan pochemiczny można przecież porównać do „kaca mordercy”, ze wszystkimi efektami specjalnymi i z wymiotowaniem włącznie. Niektórzy mają to nawet częściej niż ja, bo co każdy weekend. Co prawda kac trwa tylko jeden dzień przed trzydziestką (i minimum dwa dni po trzydziestce), ale jak się dobrze zabaluje można na dochodzenie do siebie spędzić nawet i pół tygodnia. Co tydzień. Czytaj dalej

It’s not worth it

2nd October 2015. Friday. 275th day of the year. Sunrise at 6:37. On that day people celebrated the International Day of Smile, the International Day of Non-Violence, the World Day of Farmed Animals and the Memorial of the Holy Guarding Angels. Around noon I had my first tomography. Saint patrons of the day were Anthony and Theophilus. The following films were on: “The Martian”, “The Intern”, “Under Electric Clouds” and “The Chemistry”. The sun set at 6:13 pm, while the moon rose at 9:07 pm. Czytaj dalej

Why me?

Many things have started happening around me. After more than a month of detox from people, chemotherapy and other issues, I’m back in the whirl of life. No preparation, straight into deep water. First, Krakow with friends – those belonging to the group labelled “the best”, because whatever I do they still care about the way I feel. Physically and psychologically. Anyway, there’s still no cure for hangover. Czytaj dalej

Busting out

I’ve done it again. Again, which means for the second time. I’ve quit chemo out of my own will. Because I associate everything with vomiting, I want to throw up just thinking about life. Almost any element of my room can make me nauseous, similarly to taste of tea or coke – it’s enough that in my head I associate a moment of drinking them with a similar moment during chemotherapy. Also when writing these words I can feel an unpleasant taste in my mouth. Czytaj dalej

Flesh

Another tomography behind me. A cold and dry description of warm and wet organs. This description is a mirror reflecting myself. Now it defines me – that’s who I am, how I look. It is a testimony, like bags under my eyes after a sleepless night, like scratched nail polish, proving that I have no time (for fooling around). Czytaj dalej