Dad shooed me out the door to get a sandwich.
The cafeteria -- I am not making this up to get sympathy -- is closed.
You haven't lived until you've witnessed me completely losing my shit in a public place. No, really. I saw the "cafeteria closed" sign and just started bawling. And then I ran for a bathroom so I could bawl in privacy. And then I found a vending area and I'm eating a $1 tuna sandwich that is, I suspect, not actually tuna but actually glue.
Did I mention I'm exhausted? And that my left knee is all swollen and bruised because I....kind of....fell down some stairs last night? And that complaining about that to Dad is not an option because (1) you feel bad complaining when he could be having heart attack #5, and (2) I absolutely refuse to get into an explanation of *how* I got my boo-boo.
Which -- I had a great long story about last night to post here, and now I'm crying on a nasty glue-tuna sandwich. And my back hurts. And I need to do laundry and get groceries and I hate being Dad's support when I don't have anyone to support *me.* It sucks. A lot.
Sorry to hear it Steph. So how did you get the boo-boo? I figure any story you don't want to tell dad, you should tell us.
Paul Newman? Still hot. Damn.
Steph, it's a hospital. If I were going to choose a public, lit place to cry, I figure I could do it in a hospital. This is stressful.
kinda crazy out-of-control men are scary
Really? I say that half-facetiously, but I don't know if it holds up in fiction either. Not if we're talking the same sort of out-of-control as the women (who strike me as not much more than quirky with an optional side of self destructive, depending on the lesson we need to learn).
Ooh, now I want to hear the mysterious falling down story...
Also, who else votes that Teppy leave the hospital entirely and have something good to eat, even if it's just Panera or something?
I vote Teppy go and get something to eat!
((Teppy))) I'm wishing much heart~ma to your Dad.
Sorry to whine so much, people. I snarfed a muffin in addition to the glue sandwich, and now I'm back in Dad's ER room. Still waiting on the test results. He told me that he has enough money to take a taxi home and that I should go home.
Yeah, because *that* will win me Daughter of the Year.
God, it's 5:00. This sucks.
Sorry to whine.
It's okay, Teppy.
I once lost my shit so hard in a hospital, they got the chaplain.
My being enraged was a big surprise for Father O'Rourke.
Tep, please don't apologize. You're under a lot of stress and hospitals are just not easy unless you're there for a birth of a child. Vent as much as you need to.
Oh, and that Daughter of The Year award doesn't even exist. Let it go.
Tep, please don't apologize.
No, you guys don't need me to whine. It's not fair, and by now it has doubtless gotten old. It's not your (anyone's; the plural "you") responsibility to make me feel better just because I suck at actually having any kind of meatspace support system. I deserve everything that happens to me, you know?
