My Sincere Apathy for Showering

I do not like showering. This is not logical. I like being alone, and I like being clean. I do not like showering. I wish that there was a way to be efficient while showering, because showering is like a vacuum of time.

I suppose at the root of this is that I have to comb my hair in the shower, which is a dreadful task and makes my showers twenty minutes long. So not only do I have to inflict pain upon myself, I am cold and probably am going to be hated by every eco-friendly person in the world.

It is a terrible thing to be me, my friends.

ILY, ICU. . . .

*cough cough* Okay, so MAYBE getting pneumonia and flu type B was an over-exaggerated way to get out of school, homework, blogging, PE, life, etc., but I have to tell you. . . I love the intensive care ward.

INTENSIVE CARE:
-Nobody ignores me
-Everybody is nice
-People do things to make me get better
-People do not ignore me
-Big window
-Electric bed (whee!)
-People CARE
-I eat food for the first time
-I get to wear my own shirt again
-I get a second IV
-I get poked with a needle which is raked around in my hand nine times
-I get both IVs taken out
-I get a nose tube in
-I get my nose tube out
-I have to be on constant drug so I am constantly hyper, anxious, obsessive, nauseous, high heartrate, etc.
NON-INTENSIVE CARE, AKA REGULAR HOSPITAL, WHICH THEY CALL THE FLOOR:
-They say you hit the floor. I wish we'd punched it.
-Nobody cares about me
-I do have a shower.
-I have my own bathroom
-Everybody ignores me
-They keep telling me I have asthma. "You MIGHT have had the flu." Heck ya I had the flu, I took the disgusting medicine, didn't I?
-Impersonal nurses.
-Gross medicine
-Call me beautiful, leave me alone, wake me up every four hours to drug me again. Blek.
NUMBERS:
-1: The amount of times I wanted to take gross medicine.
-2: The amount of nights I had with the ever-awesome Tina, who helped me get well. Also the amount of nights I was sedated into lucid dreams in which I decorated socks in my bedroom with Justin Bieber and my French and Social Studies classes as well as played tag with everyone my brain could come up with in a certain huge neighborhood near my school. The recurring theme, though, was me forgetting and/or not doing my homework, which preceded my doom. Grr. Make-up work. And sometimes I just went to school.
-3: Number of meals a day I had. Now I have to drink just orange juice, because everything else tastes like hospital.
-4: The number of pounds I lost. Grr. THANKS A LOT HOSPITAL, NOW MY CLOTHES ARE BAGGY.
-5: Times 10, approximately the speed of the air forced up my nose. I think, don't go around spreading that. It was fast and I heard the number 50.
-6: The number of shows I watched on TLC (Toddlers & Tiaras, Cake Boss, Kitchen Boss, Say Yes to the Dress, DC Cupcakes, and Moving Up) for, like, I dunno, 29 hours?
-7: The amount of days I spent in the hospital. I miss you all SO much.

Poetic Truth and Daisy

I'm wearing destiny on my fingertips.

Sounds pretty cool, right? All poetic-y and artsy. Actually, my little sister gave me pale pink nail polish for Christmas and it is called Destiny. And I love it, not only for its color but because I was able to wear nail polish for the first time in six months because I didn't botch it all up.

Daisy has been acting odd lately. And by odd, I mean kitten-y. And by lately, I mean ever since Perry was gone/put in a cage. As I said earlier, we brought Perry home on Christmas Eve to much delight and a couple hours of driving. To keep him from jumping or running or licking his ugly stitches, we have contained him in an old dog crate--it is black wire and made for big dogs, so he has plenty of room. But what does this have to do with Daisy? With Perry indisposed, Daisy is The Only Cat. She has reverted to kitten-ness: ripping open food bags and my special annual Chex Mix, letting me pet her for five whole minutes and playing around rather than sleeping. Is this good or bad? Hmm....

Solstice and Perry

Every winter Solstice, my family gathers in the living room by the lit fireplace and eats cookies, receives an ornament, and writes poetry about the year gone by. It's nice, rather quaint tradition, and according to my mother it originated when I was little, because right before Christmas is when toddlers start to go a little bonkers. Solstice is a nice quiet holiday to calm down. My little brother wrote short three-lined poems with the last lines as questions, my little sister did an acrostic and writing couplets, my mother wrote an eerie winter poem, I wrote poems about the Amnesty Inc. pen that I kept breaking and our tree angel, and my dad wrote a narrative poem about how he gave $20 dollars to a needy man with the requirement that he spend it on his infant son, and then later saw him buying diapers. We each received an ornament and enjoyed s'mores.

Then, Wednesday morning, I called the cats for breakfast and Perry didn't come. I finally found him in his hut by the window, but he showed no interest in eating. He vomited several times and meowed whenever anyone tried to pick him up, so my parents took him to the vet. The vets thought he had swallowed thread or floss, so my dad drove him to a specialty vet an hour or so away. Then we went through our usual business, watching the telly, trying to write this blog post (it's been three days), and cleaning. (My room currently leaves much to be desired.) So they went into surgery, opened up his stomach, and lo and behold. . . PERRY HAS A HOLE IN HIS INTESTINAL WALL! It was something he was born with, but that did nothing to prevent my mother from removing all the tinsel and obsessively picking up fragments. All in good reason, of course. Perry is recuperating and is expected home today--we hope. If not, we go visit him with chicken baby food.

Happy Holidays!

Teletubbies' Salvation

What show have we been watching in our spare time? Hmm, I have no ide-TELETUBBIES, due to Peter's recent reminiscences. When Laura was little, Teletubbies was literally her salvation. Laura was small and pliable, and the overlord sun-infant was always there to help her. Not that she was obsessed--thank goodness no--but an hour or so of Teletubbies always helps, yes? Unfortunately, we can only find A Teletubbie Christmas I & II and "Blue Sky" where they explore colors. ('And that's important, it's like their race,' says my mother. MOTHER, says me.)

Of course, I am the one searching for our Disney Princess computer games. Cinderella castle design and find-the-object-that-links-to-clothes-princess-game are TOTALLY FUN.

I have become weirdly fascinated with my blister. It irks me, but I don't want to do anything to it. Ugh.

Ta-ta and teletubbies! (BEST GAMES EVER!!!)

Injuries, (law)suits, and reviews

If I've said this once, I've said it a million times--this blog is one part cats, one part my brother, and one part pain.

Due to a school project, I decided to look at all of the nauseating reviews for some of my favorite books. Then I noticed that whilst the reviewers were significantly different, their reviews were significantly SIMILAR. Does one read a review to write a review?

I have injured myself. I have a large, gross, and didn't-stop-bleeding-for-a-long-time gash on my left index finger. On my right hand, I have a blister on my thumb and a blister on my index finger--from, sigh, sharpening crayons. It's embarrassing. I have greatly decreased the number of band-aids in my house, but not as much as the time I covered all of my mosquito bites last summer.

SKIRTS ARE STILL IN AND THEY ARE GETTING LONGER!!! YAY!!! Since right now the 50's are in style, I figure it's only a matter of time until we reach the 1900's!!!

~Happy Veteran's Day! Thanks to everyone who has ever served.~