The Real Disappearing Man

Must...get...off...couch!

Must, if I'm to retain any hope of once more being a Disappearing Man, rather than a Swanning-About-And-Vacillating one. But! - pulling me the other way is the need to make a success of both my day job and my business...both of which involve me sitting on my ass until it grows large and flaccid and ultimately wears a groove through both the stitching and the molecular bondings of the couch and then, dammit, to sit there till the wooden frame gives way.

I'm behind on a couple of projects at the moment, and have some serious sitting-the-fuck-down to do tomorrow in order to get them even vaguely back on track. Which is all very well and groovy, but I'm more than confident that tomorrow, I will in fact have gone the wrong way and become once again a Reappearing Man - which I assume is what happens when you have only delusions of doing the exercise you need to actually do in order to Disappear. So at the moment I'm caught, notsomuch between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea as between the Nazis and the Deep-Grooved Couch.

Tomorrow will of course Be What It Will Be, and it's actually too late in the day to do any damned thing about it now, even were I disposed to do so, which I'm not...because of the aforementioned behind-beingness. In an act akin to bailing out the Titanic with a teaspoon, I intend to do an hour on the bike in the morning before settling down to a day of the day job and phenomenal grammatical pedantry. But that's fooling no-one into thinking I can even maintain last week's loss. So on we go...

If you're actually still looking for a Disappearing Man, you're not really looking for me any more...you're looking for my Dad. He's Disappearing not only in physical terms, but in terms of his recognisable self. I was up there yesterday and he walked into the kitchen...and I got a kick in the head, because it didn't look like "him". It's kind of like an old, shuffling stranger has stolen his body, but doesn't quite know how to make it work. Or how to inhabit his eyes, come to that, leaving them not exactly vacant, but haunted by flickers. He has tomorrow off from being examined, poked, prodded and fretted over by medics. Then on Wednesday, I'm going with him to the next valley over to get his eyeballs injected with Stuff again. Maybe...just maybe, the Stuff will bring "him" back to his eyes, cos right now, he's Disappeared somewhere beyond their reach.

Here's to tomorrow - a day of no-prodding for him, and of assbuncles for me. Blood was 6.3 today, by the way, with absolutely no exercise. Now...must...get...off...couch...and go to bed!