Maybe if I pretend it’s not there, it’ll go away

It’s been quite a long time since I last updated this blog, but believe me, it’s been lurking around in the back of my mind all that time, raising its head every now and then and going “what about me? shouldn’t you be paying attention to me? for a change?” and then I give it a quick blast with Fukitol spray (brought to you by the same people who gave us Fukitol pills) and it sullenly sinks back into the gloom for a bit.

I started writing a new book about four weeks ago, an idea which quite amuses me as I still haven’t got the first one (written in 2005) published, and the second is locked in that limbo of endless edits, amendments and occasional realisations that a particular character can’t actually be doing this or the other on that day because I think in an earlier chapter, I put him or her in hospital. Or something.

Anyway, I’m quietly excited about the new book. Much of the time I feel like I have too much to think about; that my head is too ‘full’; that there are too many voices and noises around me, all clamouring for attention and demanding that I look after them (because, hey, I’ve got nothing better to do than clean up everyone else’s sh*t). So with this new book, I thought: pare everything back. Descriptions, conversations, setting, everything, all kept to a minimum. This book will be… sparse. It will be desolate. Cold winds will howl around the vast expanses where ~ and bear with me here ~ the reader, rather than being force-fed pages of descriptive passages and internal monologues from the various characters, is *gasp* left to fill in the blanks themselves.

It could turn out to be a very short book.

I also saw my rheumy again about four weeks ago, and I think that might be part of the reason that I put this blog in a box marked “Maybe If I Pretend It’s Not There, It’ll Go Away”. The blood test results were bollocks again, and as a result, he has now added Plaquenil to the cocktail of meds I have to take. This is apparently a slow-acting drug so it may take up to six months to show whether or not it’s actually doing me any good. Six months. That’s six months of taking a drug which might turn out to have been for no good reason after all.

On the ‘yay!’ side of things, I happily survived and quite enjoyed, thank you very much, a two-week trip to England at the end of March. There was snow on the ground, icicles hanging off the eaves and a bitter wind which hurt your face, but I am very, very proud that even with this climate shock, plus horrible jetlag, plus my compromised immune system, that I didn’t catch the cold/flu/whatever it was that was going around until literally the last day of the trip. And I’ve managed to keep it under control taking OTC cold/flu medication and fizzy Vit C tablets. I am still coughing and snotting every now and then, but I am on the mend.

The funniest thing has been watching the reactions of HK’ers to the news that I have refused antibiotics this time; they could not be more astounded than if I’d announced that I’d gone into the organ-harvesting business or that the government was going to introduce rent control to prevent landlords from arbitrarily jacking up prices. It occurs to me more and more that despite the vast reaches of the internet and the incredible wealth of knowledge at our fingertips via the world wide web, people are still just as stupid and ignorant as they have ever been… Clearly, I am not the only one practising the “maybe if I pretend it’s not there” theory of existence.

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