To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!


Well, yes, it's getting ever nearer, I didn't think such a minor thing would bother me so much, but I'm just becoming more and more agitated as time progresses. I have one and a half days of work left, and then it's under the knife or whatever tool it is they use to burn parts of your body away.

Now, the operation itself offers no real fears - it's what I'm going to feel like after that is bothering me, or the fact that I might not wake up at all. Although I'm desperately trying not to think about that.