annanotbob's Diaryland Diary

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Out, damned spot

Had the dodgy mole removed today, which experience can be broken down into four segments.

First was the rising tide of out of control emotions. The clinic is in the hospital where my real mother was working as a nurse when she met my dad. The first time I ever went in there was to have my last dodgy mole removed, on the day my father died. He died early in the morning, the appointment was for late afternoon, the doctor had made an emergency appointment the day before, and in the light of my father's sudden and unexpected keeling over, it was generally agreed that I should go. I did.

So this morning wasn't just anxiety about exactly how abnormal this growth was or what it could signify. It dredged up all this other stuff as well. I made it to about 9.30 before calling Sam and asking him to come with me, which he did.

Stage two consists of being sent to a waiting room, hanging around for ages until your name is called, at which point you get directed to another fucking waiting room. This is repeated again and again, without a cigarette break, until you forget you ever had any kind of life which didn't involve plastic chairs, noticeboards just too far away to read, and copies of Readers' Digest boasting articles about Will Smith and his new film Independence Day.

Stage three passes by in a flash - yes that looks nasty, this will hurt a bit, ow, this won't, this will smell like burning flesh,eww, there you go, take the rest of the day off, byeee.

Stage four is the release of tension (yeah, more sobbing), followed by several hours light dozing on the bed, sandwiched between a smelly little dog and a very grumpy cat, woken every now and then by the godawful racket made by the seagulls who seem to be nesting on chimney stacks up and down the street. Though I may have dreamed that bit.

I managed to deliver my socalled artwork to the community centre this evening. Our group is having a show as part of the Brighton Festival but I got a bit overwhelmed by it all somehow and came home again.

I'm going to loads of different events in the festival, starting with this on Saturday with Marion and her daughter Jen. Marion and I have no idea what it is (and I didn't look properly when I made the link), but Jen did drama for A level and called the other week from Uni in Cardiff, insisting that Marion get tickets, so we're up for it. Going to that Goddess Show the other week has reaffirmed our desire to have a bash at anything we're offered, at least once. Jen is fab - a veritable mini-me of my best pal.

Grateful for:
1. The dear old NHS - it may keep you waiting but you get seen in the end.
2. Sam
3. Nice notes and comments
4. Bill Bryson - just finished his book on Shakespeare which is so readable - ideal for all who are intelligent but weary/flaky, throughout the English-speaking world. All he really says is we know fuck-all about Shakespeare. Sifting through all the evidence there is no reason to think anyone else wrote the plays, nor is there anything to prove he was gay or straight or actually did much at all. He makes it interesting though - looking at what has been said and how the 'facts' have changed over the centuries. He did leave his wife his second best bed, but there's no agreement over whether this was an insult or a kindness.
5. Sara brought me a tuna mayonnaise and cucumber snadwich in bed. Made by her own fair hand and without the immediate chaser of a request for a loan. Happy days indeed.

Sweet dreams xx

11:53 p.m. - 29/04/2008

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