The mind is its own place

So the thought that is bugging me now is whether this detergent smell is real and is making me feel sick or I genuinely feel sick and the smell is psychosomatic?

The latter I think, because I'm catching this odour everywhere: at my desk before I left work; in M&S buying my dinner; sat on a bench near St Pauls typing my previous missive; here on the train now. The alternative is that somehow I've picked this scent up on my clothing or skin.

Neither is a particularly attractive thought. Over the years I've really come to loathe this smell, though curiously I was never too aware of it while I was at the out patients clinic receiving chemo all those years ago.

'The mind is its own place, and in it self
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.'

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