After last week’s emotional overload post, it’s well and truly time to lighten things up around here. Mrs Woog is desperate to know what’s going on in my life – who can blame her really, I am eternally fascinating – so here goes:
A cure for cancer. Seriously, hurry the fuck up researchy-type people, there are amazing human beings dropping off the perch left, right and centre. To help those researchers come up with a cure for breast cancer (which is close to my heart, quite literally), get off your arse and go for a walk or run in the Mother’s Day Classic, all the funds raised go directly to breast cancer research. There are walks being held all over Australia, but sadly only those attending the Toowoomba walk will get the pleasure of seeing me sweating it up in a pink polo shirt and dodgy tracky dacks.
These two, always. So much love, fun, happiness.
Not much, because owing to side-effects from the drug that is supposedly keeping my cancer at bay, I have severe, chronic, bloody bastard reflux. I am eating like a fussy sparrow, picking around the edges of meals, terrified of awakening the beast that has taken up residence in my oesophagus. Fortunately I discovered that Camembert is reflux-proof, so I am sustaining myself thusly.
World peace. And to be significantly less interested in I’m A Celebrity Get Me Outta Here. I don’t know how or why it happened, but I am ashamed to say that I am watching this program. And enjoying it. I am also loving Jo Thornely’s recap of each episode.
Clothes a size smaller (refer to reflux reference above). Finally, cancer has given me the weight loss that all those cheesy movies promised me. Ohhh, did someone say cheese?