I have returned from my incarceration within the disinfected Hell more commonly known as hospital. I spent the weekend in sweet sweet agony, I thought I had appendicitis, turned out to be an infection of one of my ovaries (what the hell are my ovaries playing at?) My family staged a military coup and smuggled me to Southport Hospital in the back of my uncle's car. I was in too much pain to put up much of a fight seeing as the entire tribe crawled out of the woodwork to make sure I was strapped to a hospital bed before dawn.
And when I say I was in pain, let me emphasise: PAAAAIIIIIIN! I actually cried, and I never cry. It wasn't attractive. Real crying is like real sex, if you do it right, it isn't pretty. And believe me, I was doing it right. How pathetic.
I can't stand hospitals, but in their defence, they did give me morphine. Grand stuff is morphine, every household should stock up, I spent the first night in a hazy bliss of giggles and lightheadedness. Of course, I woke up completely sober in ward 14 b, opposite some old bid who kept flashing her aged fanny at me at random intervals, next to a woman pissing into a bag and a girl with some sort of device sewn to her abdomen who kept moaning in pain behind her curtain.
I am traumatised. Needless to say, when I woke up (sober and in pain) I tried to make a break for it through the window. The nurses are like ninjas, they must have some sort of military training, they were three steps ahead of me the entire time. They're like ninja assassins in blue outfits, they gain your confidence with smiles and promises of drugs and the next thing you know you've been tucked into bed so tightly you can't escape, and they're stealing your blood! VAMPIRE NINJA ASSASSINS! I've discovered their secret, spread the word, gather your wooden stakes and meet me in the car park of Southport hospital so we can rid the world of this evil.
Anyway, I blame my ovaries. They're rebelling against lack of sex, punishing me with pain until I get a cock between my legs. I think they may be in league with my tibial plateau, my body is determined to do me in. Bastard.
But I am home now, with a plentiful amount of painkillers and antibiotics to tide me over. I may be slightly high, but there are worse conditions to find yourself in. I could still be imprisoned, being jabbed with sharp things and fondled by hands in plastic gloves. Hospitals are scary, they're like bookclubs, you're not out until the computer says you are.
On another note, just to let everyone know, antibiotics make you constipated. I would give my right eye to be able to have a shit! I never knew how much I liked using the toilet until my bowels went AWOL, but now I'm mourning my arsehole, I think it died from boredom with nothing to do... Yes, I am such a lady, talking about my shitting deficiency.
I know what's happening ya know: my uterus and my knees have formed an allience and are waging war upon me. My bowels are caught in the middle and so have decided to become Switzerland and not get involved. The battle reached my stomach the other day cause I spent a few hours on my knees, worshipping at the shrine of the porcelain god and puking my guts up, but I think my stomach won that battle and drove the enemy back cause I haven't vomited since I let hospital. It's only a matter of time though, eventually the war will reach my head and then they'll be sorry, my mind is not for the faint of heart, one peek at my more intimate thoughts and the enemy will be running and screaming like a little girl! Moo ha ha ha! So I'm not worried.
I just re-read that last paragraph and decided that yes... I am most definitely high.
Anyhoo, I've spent the day reading Naruto (the manga) so have this:
How dare a drawing be so fucking pretty!!!!!! I wish Kakashi was real, I would hunt him down and make him mine and have hundreds of puppies! (and there wouldn't be a dolphin in sight!)
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