Tonight I feel alone.

Really fucking alone.

And I’m not supposed to feel like this.

I’m supposed to have control. I’m supposed to have it sorted. I’m supposed to be free.

But people are just getting on with their lives. No recognition. Not even a question. No fucking thing whatsoever.

And for an hour or two. Maybe more. I’ve disappeared inside. Concerned only about myself.

About me. And me. And me.

They’re bothered about making money. Or being on time for the party. Or whether someone has swept the floor.

And I’m thinking I might fucking die!

Fuck the money. And the party. And the fucking floor.

But life doesn't stop because someone might be dying. Life doesn’t stop when someone dies. Life just keeps rolling and rolling — and doesn’t ever stop.

Even to shed one single, tiny, solitary tear.

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I am living in a world of piss and shit and puke and blood.

Where cancers grow on the surfaces of necks.

And hands mauled by cats, or bitten savagely by Friday night thugs.

Fight relentlessly for health.

To see again the light of day that their bandages deflect.

This darker side of the human form

Stands in contrast to the world outside of here.

Where the skin is painted, and the body adorned.

Covered with the finest clothes.

To shield the unspeakable mess beneath.

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I honour that within me which is too tired to move.

Which is too tired to get up from this chair and climb the stairs to the toilet above.

And that within me that does not have the energy to go one flight further, to the bedroom, to collect the charger to my phone, even though I fear my wife maybe calling, and needing me now.

I honour that within me which did not receive the results that he wanted to receive today.

And that within me that understands too well the implications of what are means.

I honour my tiredness and bow down to it as a teacher and a friend.

The one who above all else knows that right now what I need to do is rest.

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How Covid nearly killed me

I entered the Covid testing center three days ago, wondering if I’d test positive.

And wondering if the operation to remove this constantly growing, almost tennis ball size, tumour in my groin, would be delayed.

Over the next 48 hours, no Covid Call was received.

And I was able to turn up to the Royal Victoria Hotel at 7:30am on a Monday morning, for admission.

The tumour has now been removed, along with several nearby lymph nodes, unhindered by any mischief from this Covid disease.

But it could have been so different.

And I can’t help thinking what a two week delay, while isolating, would mean for someone in a situation like mine.

And the mental and emotional, let alone physical strain, for those in a similar condition to me.

Who find themselves, before their operation, with positive Covid results.

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