Sunny Friday

8am

I watched American comedies, all afternoon. What else was there to do? I just wanted the day to pass. I favoured Jennifer Aniston, not sure why?

I'm much more of a Jennifer fan than an Angie fan, Brad's an idiot! But I'm also more of a fan of Vince Vaughan's looks than Brad's, until I watched "The Break up" in which Vince is fat and not attractive.

"Rumour has it" was good, but then again anything with Shirley Maclaine in it has to be good.

I really liked "Friends with Money." It was more internal than the others.

I also watched "The Devil Wears Prada." Streep being a bitch, it has to be worth a look.

I didn't necessarily watch them for their quality, but their quantity was pretty much assured to make a quite afternoon on the couch disappear. I wanted fluff and pretty fluff at that.

Anyway, I'm off to hossy for more antibiotics, straight into my veins, as one of the good doctors so aptly put it.

It's 11.11.

As I slipped passed the fat lady on the wheelie bed, on my way out, puffing on a ciggy, with the whiter than white sheet almost covering her gangrenous toe and past the rake thin man, in the Sydney Swans trackie top, on crutches juggling his ciggy on his good side, I slipped on my beanie and it was all I could do not to cry, as I headed to Gertrude Street. I'm not very good at being sick, 3 days and I'm over it. The doctors think my arm is getting better; while the swelling and redness is becoming less intense, it is still spreading out further along my arm. I'm sick of the sling pulling on my neck and I've got to wear it for another week. I want to drive, I want to go to the country. I want to use both my hands.

I could feel the sun glistening on my tears, as they sat on my cheeks, as I walked towards home. I wiped them away and nobody noticed. I felt so alone.

Of course, that should read, I felt so sorry for myself. Mark has offered to come down every day from the country to look after me. My friend Jill says she is at my call twenty four hours a day and that I must call even for the most trivial thing - she knows of a woman who died from septicaemia from a rose thorn prick, recently. Jill calls daily, as does Mark. Lottie has offered to come over and stay.

But you know, when I'm sick I just want to deal with it myself; into the world on your own, out of the world on your own and when it's matters of illness and health, again, you have to do it yourself, nobody can do it for you.

I must call Tom. He had a kidney biopsy, today.