Lydia's doing okay. She's strong. She's making horrifying jokes about how she's catching up to my number of deaths, and then smirking as my jaw drops to the floor. And then I realise that's probably how you all feel when I joke like that... She's with Katherine for the night again. It's doing her good.
I have a biopsy tomorrow morning. It should be fine. And then we'll know things. Like what to do from here. If I go bald, no one is to refer to me as Uncle Fester and if you do you should be duly warned that I bite.
I love my wife.
Which has nothing to do with biting. Well nothing much...
discontent