better than chemotherapy?

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? ? ? 30 ? ? ? ? ? 9? ? ? ? 12? ?
? ? 9? ? ? ? 30? ? ? ? ? 9? ? ? ? 4.5? ? ? ? 9? ? ? ? 30? ? ? ? 3? ? ?? 12? ? ? ? 12? ? ? ? ? ?

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? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? 9? ? ?? 9? ? ??? 9? ? ? ? 12? ? ? ? ? 9? ? ? ? 5? ?


? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? 3? ? ?? 9? ? ?? 6? ?? ? ? 9 ?? ? ? 4.5? ???? 9? ?


? ? ? ? ? 75? ? ? ? 7? ? ? ? ? ? 25? ? ? ? 24? ? ? ?? ? 74.67%.
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I had a dream during a day nap. I was in a boutique with concrete walls, it had a mezzanine and framed drawings were appearing on the wall as I envisioned them, a lot of surreal pictures in watercolor or acrylic with fingers turning into mouths, and eating young women and such, some silhouettes of guitar players, lines being drawn with my mind, but they were not frightening, because I was judging them -- whether or not they would be hung and sold in the boutique. There was a tune playing in my head that melded into the lyrics of an Erasure song -- I knew the words perfectly in my dream, but when I awoke, I could only hum the melody -- which ended up being played on the store's speakers, reverberating slightly off square concrete pillars. I proceeded into the restroom (unisex), which was panelled in a decaying, but beautiful robin's egg blue wood, and noticed from the wall opposite the toilet, an eyeball peering at me through a crack in the door. I heard a tiny giggle, some scurrying footsteps, and ran out the door, into a long, low-ceiling corridor (still that messy dark concrete), and found a teenage girl in high-waisted hot pants. She carried a small squirt gun filled with water and shooting it at me, giggled, ran, and hid behind a doorway.