Nothing very much to report these days, life has been extremely uneventful. I keep forgetting about recieving life changing calls from Addenbrookes, i'm almost convinced this is all a huge joke. Putting my phone in my pocket wherever I go now happens through relentless and mind-numbing routine, rather than the apprehension of recieving a call. I now find I can go a day without even thinking about transplants. My heart doesn't race when my phone makes a beep (text) or a squeek (twitter) or a rattle (med reminders) or a pop (facebook) like it used to, but it does still kind of do a funny little skip when I get a call - a sudden reminder! But people don't call me that much (3, 2, 1, awww). September has even arrived, Home and Away has started back up again... all these little things I thought i'd see with two new organs have been and gone, lost to my fickle world of superstition, coincidences, pattern and luck.
So instead I treck to and from my fortnightly hospital check-ups, with nothing new ever to report. Today, like the time before and the time before that, my weight was up a teeny bit, lung function almost exactly the same, nothing exciting, no new hurdles to overcome. It's reassuring and good. Good, but dull nonetheless.
I also have so much time. Bundles and bundles and bundles of time. To do what? What have I done with this rare luxury?! So many people pray for time, more time to do whatever they desire. My time seems to be eaten up NO gobbled up by some invisible time consuming monster. Actually, I think this monster's called 'Twitter'. What a waste. I still have a huge pile of books to work my way through (Ulysses included - I wanted to read Ulysses for some god-knows-why reason - to kill time? To kill me?), but most of the pile remain untouched and unloved. I've been reading the same book for months. I footle about on the internet until some horriffic hour, read only a couple of pages, then sleep. I wanted to read! I wanted to paint! I wanted to learn the saxophone! (OK maybe not, but why not!) So thanks silly twitter/demand five/iplayer/amazon/blogger/iwantoneofthose.com for absoloutly nothing, you dumbasses.
(I'm sorry, I love you really internet! I watched Tom Daley's 'Sexy and I know it video' the other day - but i'm not going to say anything because he's the same age as my little brother and makes me question my sanity/ hormone levels.)
(And also, the internet is the only thing I have left that is close to the real world (this can't be right, ed.) given I will only go out if I am forced to thanks (in part) to the security lady at the Paralympics who said: "Here, walk round this way to avoid the x-ray machines, you don't want to be going through those, love". Don't LOVE me, i'm not fucking pregnant. I smiled and thanked her (dearly, for saving my unborn child's life). The words final and straw came to mind. Soured my entire day out at the Olympic park. I just wanted to run home sonic-style.)
SOON, I keep telling myself when things like that happen. Soon. Until then, i'll just bury myself in a boo... sorry, Twitter. Obv.
Saying that, Twitter isn't helping calm my boiling blood at the mo. This relentless limbo has trapped me in a world revolving around CF. See, all I ever talk about is transplants. And CF. And more transplants. And it bores me, so I apologise profusely if it bores you. Twitter, as much as it entertains and can comfort me, winds me up too. Too much whinging. I can't wait until I have something better to do so I don't have to be constantly surrounded by whiney reminders of this shitty disease. It shouldn't consume so much brain space. Doesn't deserve it, really. It has it's sticky paws on enough organs as it is, greedy bugger!