That chest infection… Brilliant. Just what I bloomin' needed, eh.
One of the strangest things about being under the weather with something like this is how the world starts to blur at the edges. It’s as though you’re no longer entirely in it, but instead sat in the audience somewhere, watching your own life play out up on the big screen. A convincing film, mind you... all rich detail, surround sound, full immersion, all the trimmings... yet you’re still just a spectator.
And then come the dreams. Wild, sprawling storylines, heavy with colour, steeped in detail, with plots that cling to you for a while after you open your eyes.
A mate of mine, knee-deep in esoteric stuff, says it’s because your soul is taking the chance to slip anchor and go flying round parallel worlds in search of somewhere fresh to land.
Who knows.
One of the oddities I keep coming across when I tell people I’ve got cancer is the way they drill me with their eyes, as if expecting me to look… I don’t know… different. Shattered. The body barely holding together. Confused. Maybe with hair falling out.
But when, instead of those tell-tale signs, they see someone who, at least on the surface, looks more or less fine, I can almost hear the unspoken question: “Are you having me on?”
And honestly? I don’t even hold it against them. Before all this, I’d have been the exact same. It just doesn’t always click that not every illness shouts its presence. Until it happens to you.