Continuing to fall apart

I mentioned my dud leg at my chemo session on Tuesday and the world went into Grey's Anatomy mode (which doesn't mean I hopped into a storage cupboard to have it off with a pretty nurse).  Instead, they sent me across the road to the ultrasound place where a pretty young lady ran an electronic thingy all over my legs while I thought of Donald Trump speeches, John Arlott commentaries and kangaroo courts with my boss to avoid embarrassing myself.  The ultrasounds showed no blood clots (which is what everyone was looking for) so that was a relief.  A week down the track and both legs still hurt despite my being as lazy as possible and slapping ice on.  I reffed a couple of soccer games yesterday in the hope of loosening something up and was rewarded with a nasty ripping feeling in my right buttock.
I've taken some pictures showing my chemo pipes for anyone who's interested but Microsoft in their infinite wisdom have decided not to support SD card readers in Windows 10 and my cellphone refuses to log on to Google so I have no way of getting the photos off the phone. 
At least I am getting a week off chemo this week which is aimed at helping me recuperate a bit - can't wait for that to start as I feel wrung out and as if someone has halved my IQ.  My beloved Kenken book is a mess of crossings out and puzzles with 4 numbers out of 81 filled in before I gave up.
Other big news (at least as far as I'm concerned) is that I tried out with a band on Tuesday night and I think they want me to join them.  Interesting setup - we practice at the local Veterans' Affairs Restoration Project that helps homeless vets get back on their feet.  There's a large stage supplied with more amps & mikes than you can point a stick at so I don't have to lug my 20kg "mini-bass" amp around.  It's in a room with a movable partition that joins onto the dining room & TV lounge so, when we play something that someone recognises, they wander in and listen.  This could be fun, especially as I am possibly the second youngest guy in the group.  Even better, I know all the songs they play,  or at least recognise them so following along isn't too hard.  No flashy intros or endings - straight in, six lots of 12 bars, back to the main key and then stop.  It does raise the question of why it is that I can remember that Jimmy Reed recorded Baby What You Wanna Do but I can't remember the names of the people I work with.
By way of variety I drove Sam to his game today with the intention of watching the first half before coming home to barbecue chicken wings.  The weather gods had different ideas and flooded the pitch while we watched - quite spectacular but could have used more lightning / cowbell.  The barbecue wasn't as hot as I would have liked, either, so the wings weren't all that crisp but the sauces Susan came up with made up for that.  Even the coleslaw tasted like coleslaw rather than the nasty chemical cocktail taste I've got used to (an effect of the chemo, not our choice of coleslaw dressing).
Back to school tomorrow - I believe that one of my parents is going to email the principal to castigate her for refusing to pay me to teach the advanced programming class (which I am refusing to teach as a result - I am not a bleeding charity, especially after the principal cut my pay by $30,000 last year.)  I anticipate my first kangaroo court of the year.
And so to bed.

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