Finally, we're bang up to date. Real time. I'm writing this in the morning, a few hours before my surgery. My eyes haven't gotten better. There are no mirrors around which is a real pain because I want to see them up close. I bet they look like the gammy eye of that cat I used to have, the one that seemed to live forever and squirted out a litter of kittens every summer. I bet she still prowls the street with her grey marble eye, stinking of fleas and whoring herself around. The filth bag.

Anyway, I said I'd be positive today even though I'm shitting enough bricks to build a bungalow. Enough to house me and Kitty O'Dea. Crazy cat woman with her harem of tabby cats, fighting local crime in the ugly underbelly of the city. Gouged eyes, ripped ears and scarred faces, none could compare to their owner who was virtually blind and relied on her sense of smell to navigate from the bathtub where she washed her dishes to the front door, four steps away. Shovelling cats out of her path, the carpeted mat was already stinking of cat piss and hairballs, a sight that she was pleased not to see.

Philip has already run through some of the procedure with me. He said we'll go through it again today, and take care of any doubts I might still have. He's starting to grow on me a bit. The same way that a scab grows over a cut.

Last night I nearly got into a fight with Jekyll. Whatever course of contraceptive drugs she's on at the moment clearly are rubbing her up the wrong way. Literally. The TV remote went missing and we couldn't find it anywhere. I couldn't find an elephant in a room with my sight, but there was no harm in looking busy. I noticed that Jill had been unusually quiet. She was sitting down, scratching herself. No one could figure out why the channel on the TV set was switching over by itself until I confronted her.

She was none too pleased. I don't care. I'll be out of here in a couple of days anyway. I don't need to be making friends. None of them would function out in the real world. Best place for them would be to stay in here. Someone as poor as Margareth could do a lot worse than stay here for a bit longer. Maribel might as well have a price list stamped on her forehead. She'll be on the seedy streets in no time. Stacey, when she wasn't chewing the ear of someone with her slack jaw, was gnawing on her nails, fingers and peroxide blonde hair. It was like petting time at the zoo.

I'm beginning to look forward to my visits up top each day. I've only spoken with Tyler a few times but he seems to have more brain cells that the average here (double figures) so we can hold a conversation. I've always gotten on better with guys anyway. Who knows, after this and with $1500 in my pocket I might just buy some new clothes and head on the town on Saturday night. About time I got lucky. Speaking of luck, time to go. Matron is setting up breakfast. Hopefully, when I return my eyes will be back to normal.