Monday, 7 December 2009

STRESS ALERT

Got woken up at 6am with Hobart doing a little wake up sick - a pukette -next to the pillow on my bed. I had gone to sleep thinking about my Dad as he has been having confused spells and now he has a sign at the bottom of his bed saying "Hi John. You fell out of your wheelchair and broke your hip. That is why you are in hospital." He is having trouble always knowing what is going on. He told Mum to tell me he is sorry. Sorry for what? For being a prick when I was growing up? Sorry that he won't make it to March? Or was the "Sorry" a "Pardon?" for some other conversation he was having in his head with someone else?

So I am going home on Monday. I am dreading the flight, the fatigue, the lack of money, how it might be before I get there/after I get there and all the work I have to do before I go away for my boss.

So,imaginary boyfriend, why don't you come over, cook me pasta and tuna for dinner and make crap jokes all night? Oh, that's right. You don't exist. Sorry.

xx Lektrogirl

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