I was just tidying up and getting organized for my return to work next Wednesday, and I found the little notebook I took to the hospital with me. It was a great idea to take a little book, for writing down the doctor’s instructions, tips from the nurses, etc., but what really made me chuckle was my morphine-induced notes to myself.
“Why can’t your boyfriend sleep with you at the hospital? Seems unreasonable.”
“I would kill for something crispy – a piece of TOASSSSST! TOAST!”
“People have an unreasonable interest in my bowels.”
“Sorry, old lady in the next bed – I’m not chatty.”
“I wish my little cat was here.”
“I like the curtains closed. That’s why they’re CLOSED.”
“crispy crunchy sweet salty fibre-y food”
“Best boyfriend, really. He’s very sweet to me.”
“Did I say crispy?”
“Please stop opening the drape. I’m an introvert. I like it closed. It completely unnerves me to wake up to an old lady staring at me.”
“Things I want to do:
- clean house and simplify my life
- get $ under control
- stay fit and healthy
- be easier on myself”
I actually don’t remember making any of these notes, but they’re in my handwriting, in my book, so I gotta claim them. Apparently I like sex, crispy food, and not being stared at.
Boy, was I in the wrong place!