We are behind with the Willow Foundation. The Willow Foundation is a charity that provides "special days for seriously ill 16 to 40 year olds" and Kelly wants a party before she goes back to Ireland. Admittedly given my rather unstructured life-style and the continued fug of depression, days do tend to bleed weakly into one another, but I think it was well over a week ago that Kelly's breast care nurse agreed to fax her application form to them as "she knew someone". Well she evidently knows no one as they were posted and arrived only yesterday and, from what I can gather, without the notes that she was supposed to write alongside the application.
I'm terrified (read: worried) that we won't be able to get a venue for the 19th of March now (I had also completely forgotten about St Patrick's Day, which is a factor in North London).So I'm going to scour the neighbourhood and put my name down on anywhere I can find, as you would if you were hedging your bets with a wedding reception; praying that they don't ask for a deposit. Again flagrant hyperbolic language that I really must rein in: if they ask for a deposit I'll obviously just walk away. I won't be praying to anybody, especially "not you-know-who"*.
I would like to actually pull this off and not have everything go as woefully tits-up as everything else I do. I really am the King Midas of Bizarro-world. Which is a place in the D.C. universe, okay? Bizarro, a sort of rock faced anti-Superman, lives there. The planet is a cube because a cube is the exact mathematical opposite of a sphere. That's just science!
*He hasn't done us any favours. And is incorpreal anyway, so you couldn't call him "anybody" anyhow.