In the hospital, life gets reduced to the elementals. My time here is spent undergoing various tests (liver looks good!), getting and giving fluids, suffering feverish episodes, and trying to keep my psyche from imploding. I have removed it and hidden it in an obscure drawer for safekeeping.
I've basically been transformed into a large and fertile irrigation ditch. Liquids go in, liquids go out. Fevers bubble and brew.
I realized I haven't been wearing earrings.
Today I ranted about musicals and why I hate them, especially The Man of La Mancha.
My brief taste for hospital food must have been a feverish delusion. I just sent the meatloaf marching.
My childhood sweet tooth has emerged and must be fed vast quantities of sugary foods or it is very angry.
I think I'm feeling a little better.