I fight with my skinny jeans in the morning. I fight with Flash and Melle over toys and dirty socks and what time they should get their breakfast. I fight with Jim over stupid little things like what belongs in the dishwasher. But sitting on a bed, turning away whilst my nurses stick needles in me, that’s not a fight. I can’t even face the sight of my own blood! Trust me, I’d be rubbish in a real battle!
I’m just doing exactly what I should be doing to, selfishly, stay alive, only I’m complaining about it a bit too much on social media.