Conversation with a Coat Stand

Scene: 3 am, a dark bedroom.

Me: Don't loom, it's rude.
Coat rack: Sorry. I'm broken at the top you know.
Me: Yes, but still, try not to look like someone in the room.
Coat rack: You think I look like someone in the room?
Me: Yes.
Coat rack: There is someone in the room. There's always someone in the room.
Me: Shh.
(pause)
Well fck.
(pause)
Might as well get up.

Couldn't sleep.

I have an appointment today for my new glasses. It's in the afternoon, and I will see if I can bring it forward because damn, let's just get stuff out of the way.

My mother is turning into a champion. A lot of her information is suspect ('No more glucose!') but I am delighted at her attitude, telling me that 'this is a war, and everything you put in your mouth is a shot against the enemy!' This is so much better than her initial phrase of 'I am devastated!' I had to bite my lip then. No,I wanted to scream,me six months down the line after a masectomy with this bloody thing all over my lymph nodes and my hair and teeth falling out and my body aged and my life expectancy cut by a decade due to chemo and radiation and the hell knows what, that would be devastation! But now she has lifted herself to the challenge, while all I want to do is sleep. In fairness, it seems a reasonable response to being woken in the night by a garrulous coat rack, but I was expecting more substantial support from my adrenal glands.