So, I managed to land my happy ass in the hospital.
I’m sure it’s nothing serious, but this is my second night here, and I am going insane.
Part of this is the fault of my (very loud) neighbor.
Because holy mother of god, she needs to shut up.
It was bad enough that her family brought her ribs, which I can smell. Now that the extreme nausea is (mostly) gone, I’m hungry, but I’m stuck with clear liquids (and apparently, beer doesn’t count as a clear liquid… Sigh). Then she proceeded to talk about food for the next forty-five minutes. Just as their conversation was winding down, I was so tempted to go over there and punch her in the face in exchange for a chicken pot pie.
Or one of those ribs she raved about. I’m pretty certain they’re still there.
Never mind that I’d probably be in agony if I ate it, but still. I AM A FAT GIRL STARVING HERE PEOPLE!
In any case, she has since turned the topic. And the conversation has ranged from quasi racist to just plain offensive.
And it ended with this capper: she started talking about how the doctor examined her… uh… girly bits.
I’m starting to think if I did go next door and punch her in the face, I might be doing the world a favor. Thankfully (for her), that’s too much effort on my part.
Oh, and visiting hours just ended. The world has just breathed a sigh of relief.