- If anyone I know has it, no matter how careful I am with hygiene, I will get it. It doesn't matter if I've actually been with the person who has it, or just talked to them on the phone or by text, I will still contract it. My immune system is so mixed up it actively seeks out bugs that are outside my body, runs out to greet them and invites them in for a party. The immunosuppressant drugs I have to take are great for bug parties.
- It always hits in the middle of the night, so I wake up in the dark, and disoriented. At that point, my joints announce, "we decide if you can stand up and the conditions under which you will do so." The negotiations are short-circuited and I have to run, just hoping knees. hips and ankles won't give out completely, no matter how much they are object.
- Sitting in the bathroom for long enough, and in the right position to become convinced that my legs have become possessed by the ghost of John Howard's eyebrows, and knowing that I don't have the physical or mental ability to use a razor at this stage, and probably not for the next 24 hours or more. (For those overseas, John Howard is a former Prime Minister whose eyebrows have a life of their own, and are more overgrown than any old growth forest.)
- The need to learn skills like sitting on the loo and putting my head in the shower simultaneously. (Where my bucket went is anyone's guess. I'm sure it will turn up tomorrow, or maybe next week, or just after I buy a new one.)
- I threw out a perfectly good shower mat rather than washing it. My bathroom smells like bleach, because I didn't have the energy to clean properly, so I just threw bleach everywhere to kill the germs.
- Instead of using all the food I've eaten for the past six months, my body's been keeping it in storage somewhere (probably my thighs) for just this occasion.
- Despite the ballistic expulsion of about 12,000 kilograms from my gut, I haven't lost any weight.
Well, that was my night. If anyone needs me this morning, I'll be back in bed... or the bathroom.