Silent as the grave for months, then three posts come along all at once.
So, those of you who don't run screaming at the prospect of monaboyd slash might be interested to hear that Chapter 8 of Project Homer is up here
. Just sayin'.
Bizarre moment of the week: Helping one of the fashion models backstage at the Cancer Support Group Fashion Show to reposition her boobs.
"I think that one needs to be over to the right a bit."
She peels it off her chest and sticks it back on, further over. I never realised you could get self-adhesive boobs. It was kind of weird to see her chest with no nipples, just horizontal scar lines where her breasts used to be.
"Are you sure? Are they meant to be that far apart? Are yours that far apart?"
I look down at my boobs and come very close to lifting up my shirt and flashing a complete stranger but decide against it and just pull the fabric in closer so she can judge for herself. :)
All the models had cancer. One of them was only 29, and had lost her mother to breast cancer at 32.
Three of us were there dancing as an interlude in the fashion show - one of our troupe has a really close friend in the cancer support group, so it's the charity we always ask for contributions towards whenever we dance. The last time we danced for them, one of our troupe said, quite matter-of-factly, that of course one day it would be one of us. Statistically of course, she was right - in fact, out of the 10 or so of us, it's likely that about 3 of us will develop cancer at some point. It kind of brings it home to you. You always think it's going to happen to someone else.
The commentator said of one model as she was onstage, that she lived for every day. I suppose we all should. You never know how much time you have so we should make the most of every day.
And on that note, I shall toddle off to bed, as it's 5:15 am and sleep might be a good idea at some point ...