The doctors have given him three to four months to live. If we can't stop the tumour from bleeding, it won't be that long.

I'll blog properly tommorow. Probably.

So.

Good day today. Actually understood what was happening in Triple Science, which is good. Mr. Meerbucks said that someone would grow up to be a "lap-top dancer", which was hilarious. My favourite episode of Scrubs was on, which was nice. Sean finally learned to say "capitalism" which is excellent (although he says he likes it...).

I have decided to have a Baking Weekend this weekend, since last weekend both the Guardian and the Observer gave away free baking guides, so that'll be fun, if expensive.

Twenty-three days until I see Patrick Wolf with Sophia, which I'm really looking forward to.

Twenty-seven days until Christmas, and Emily and I have decided upon a date to do our annual Christmas Brent Cross trip on. So now, all I need to sort out is a dress. Purple prom dress from Oasis? Weird silver thing from TopShop? Paris Hilton-style (don't laugh, it's a nice dress, even if she is the human form of evil) black dress from ASOS? What do you think?

My dad's back in the Marsden. Again.

Dammit.

I don't want to go back to when I was visiting him after school everyday, and never getting any homework done or anything, simply because after I see him, I think a lot about it all. Him, and what it's all going to be like, is like and has been like. Mostly what it is going to be like. You can't write things on "what family means to me" (Sociology's stupid) after that. It's all too morbid.

But I talk about this too much on this blog.

So I'll go. I'm going to visit him tomorrow, probably. Cross your fingers for me.

Let him be OK, for just another year. More, more, more, is what I want to say. But no-one thought he'd live this long. And there are still things, say the doctors and the nurses, that can be done. Maybe they'll give us an hour, a week. Maybe a month. Time has never seemed so important, and it has never seemed so rare. We can't escape time, and yet we have next to none.

Will my father be dead before I give in my second draft of my case study? No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Please. Selfish it may be, but I need this.

Give me forever.

Give me a year.