In Which There Is the Can-Can

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Up, feeling gloriously rested, workout first thing (20 mn supine angel). Waiting for congee, probably finishing Antony and Cleopatra in the Grand High Shakespeare Re-read.

Green tea, no caffeine.

I want this dramatic weight loss (down to 130 lbs/60 kg) to be a breakup of the cancer like ice at dawn and me pooping out the cancer cells, whilst on the battlements, my white blood cells caper, prance and mock the cancer cells while chucking rocks at them. But you never know.

Right you men, don’t cheer, the poor bastards are dying.

Those chairs in Queen Mary’s are truly wonders. As soon as the leg rest was adjusted all pain (the cancer-sciatic pain that has been radiating, off and down, from my left pelvis to me ankle, with sometimes the feeling that a Daemon is pounding my ankle with a cudgel: the wound pain from a bedsore over my L5 lumbar because the bedclothes scrape my butt) disappears.

Subjected the weight loss to a Combined Arms assault last night: a Snickers savor’d slow. A bag of M & Ms ate mostly one at a time. Finally, eight Lindt dark choco squares. All while reading “William Shakespeare: a Textual Companion” by the Oxford Collected Works editorial team. A wonderful text on the ontology and epistemology of editing (“there is” an UrText, being what the author wrote and intended: we may not know it or know that we know it completely but we can approach it and from this help readers understand Shakespeare).

Munch munch choco munch smear smear choco smear. So reading a book in bed in an estaminet in Paris once had the Abigail cleaning the room ask in panic:

Oh! Mon cher Monsieur, qu’est que c’est la, c’est la la merde, le poo poo?

Ah non (dits moi), oh no, ma cher, c’est la chocolat au lait Suisse, yum yum!

Ooooh merci-merci, mon cher Monsieur, c’est vraie, pardonnez-moi!

Cest’rien, ma cherie, mon choux qu j’adore,la plus charmants, doux est belle c’est vous de touts l’Abigails en Paris!

[We break into an Offenbach tune and a can-can]

C’est pas la merde c’est le chocolat!
C’est mon amour c’est pas cafe au lait!
C’est pas l’Oliphant c’est une billet de votre Femme!
You thought you saw an Elephant that practiced on a Fife!
Ho ho ho Monsieur, here is
A letter from your wife!
[Ta da da da da da data data da da data dar um de dum de dum!]

Change Record

9 May 2014 Spelling error correction

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