So, right now, I’m in my room with an IV bag attached to a coat-hanger, duct taped to my ceiling fan and a needle in my neck. The juxtaposition is odd, I’ve never had an IV in my neck outside of the hospital. It’s nothing serious, just a few days of anti-biotics for the trache, but it’s weird.
Some family friends visited yesterday, they prayed over me. They mean well, but getting prayed over never makes me feel anything but uneasy. It just feels a little weird, like maybe you’re “going somewhere.” I mean, I pray, but not like that, with “please Jesus” and “thank you, Lord Jesus,” every few words. My prayers are conversational, one-way, but still conversational. I think God knows me enough to where I can just talk (not literally), and sometimes swear. I like to think God’s cool enough to be called a fucker and take it, He knows what’s in your heart anyway, and that’s what’s sometimes in mine.
I had terrible nightmares. Sometimes I miss the exhausted, empty sleep before Ativan.
I’m thinking about someone again. I think about said person a lot.
I’ll write something better after I wake up a bit.2 comments
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