Change. A lot of talk about it. Mostly useless babble. How we've changed, how we haven't. Spurts of introspection aching like growing pains.
As for me. I've displayed some irritation at these murmurs. Nothing I've too closely examined. I haven't changed so much as my circumstances have. If I changed as quickly I'd be perfectly adaptable. Would be a useful trait, but perhaps offsetting to friends I have but intermittent relations with.
Maybe I will sleep. I haven't much to keep me occupied through til morning. But I will then sleep late and miss out on much.
Back to Orlando soon. No matter where I am I miss where I was. But I miss home the most when I am here. I suppose it is because it is like visiting a photograph. Everything looks proper, but there is no life to it.
Hopefully my father will be home soon.
Why is it so difficult to have all the people you love in one place?
Friday, March 13, 2009
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
He, upgraded. I, exposed.
This morning, I was spurred from unconsciousness to frazzled panic. I had spent the morning ignoring my phone, which I had intended to rouse me by 10:30. An intent I groggily deemed misguided as my phone sang to me this morning, Necesito yo aqui! You are the sunshine of my liiife... (Which is terribly irritating, might I add) So noon finds me comatose until a frantic knocking at my secret door, a voice demanding to know over and over again why it is locked.
Oh shiii.
So I've been unsure about this room I've been sleeping in since day 1. It was provided to me by my dad's nurse, but something about the way she presented it made me uncomfortable. She advised me not to leave my purse in there. So that first night I ended up falling asleep in the chair next to my father's bed because I wasn't sure how legit the room thing was. Cept a nurse came in and freaked out while I was asleep, saying I couldn't do that. My father told me he said because of sexual harassment issues. We were both like wtf? Freud much?
Fairly ruffled, the next night I headed for my little room. "Counseling Room," its sign informed me. "In use." Huh. In use? I guess that's.. me? I peered back at the front desk, ensuring no one around, and slipped in. Tiny, but sufficient. Some sheets, a pillow, fold out chair-bed. The bed was the tiniest hing I've ever seen, about 2 feet wide and 6 feet long. Plenty of space for me, of course, granted I didn't move very much during the night.
So every night I'd sneak in, kick off my shoes, set up the bed and surf the web until sleep saw fit to steal me away. Every morning I'd throw all of my stuff back together, take the bed apart, and slip out. Hit the restroom right quick to clean up as best as I could and head to my father's room.
So this morning. Knocking. Panic. Trying to find my glasses. Where are my mofugging glasses? Forget it. To the door. Then I hear my grandmother's voice out there too. Oh, thank the heavens. A sheepish unlock and sightless, "Hi.." later, the situation began to clear up. As far as my vision wasn't concerned. It was the same nurse who had given me the room. She was back on duty for the first time in a few days. Apparently while I had been snarkily ignoring my phone, two of those disturbances had been phone calls from my father. Ergh. So they all panicked. The nurse had thought I had been locked out and wandered off elsewhere. Captured by urban pikeys, maybe?
A false alarm and a confirmation. No, I am not supposed to be there. But I haven't actually been exposed. Yet. Only a couple nights to go, so maybe I'll bum here sucessfully...
---
While I was having strange dreams that stole music from the new The Hills Have Eyes, my father had a room upgrade. Yay! This new room is twice the size of the old, actually has a bathroom, and faces Madison Ave.
Over all, he is doing fairly well. That is, nothing is going wrong. He doesn't feel great, but nobody panics when it's part of the plan, right? He's just starting to lose his hair again. His throat is pretty messed up, full of lesions and generating much too much saliva, which he occassionally chokes on. He recently gave in and upped his dosage for the pain medication. He hates being out of it. He says the stuff makes him "loopy." But I'd imagine that having every second being it's own degree of hell is much worse than every second being confusing and dream-like. As a result, he's been spending most of his time sleeping. He doesn't have much energy, can't even lift his own laptop. But once his wbc rises he should feel much better. It's going to be shiz for a week or a bit longer, but after that he should start regaining his strength.
The big thing that we are worrying about is Graft vs Host disease, where basically his body rejects the transplant. He is pretty much guaranteed to get it, but a minor case is actually beneficial (the doctors have never enabled me to understand the why of that.) It's important to continue to watch for it after the first 100 days of the transplant, but can occur as long as a year after. From what I understand, though, if no major complications arise in the next couple of weeks, then things are looking good.
He did have a fever at 4am, but it broke, so I guess nothing is wrong?
It's been 6 mos and a few days now. If things continue this way, within a couple month he'll be back home.
Oh shiii.
So I've been unsure about this room I've been sleeping in since day 1. It was provided to me by my dad's nurse, but something about the way she presented it made me uncomfortable. She advised me not to leave my purse in there. So that first night I ended up falling asleep in the chair next to my father's bed because I wasn't sure how legit the room thing was. Cept a nurse came in and freaked out while I was asleep, saying I couldn't do that. My father told me he said because of sexual harassment issues. We were both like wtf? Freud much?
Fairly ruffled, the next night I headed for my little room. "Counseling Room," its sign informed me. "In use." Huh. In use? I guess that's.. me? I peered back at the front desk, ensuring no one around, and slipped in. Tiny, but sufficient. Some sheets, a pillow, fold out chair-bed. The bed was the tiniest hing I've ever seen, about 2 feet wide and 6 feet long. Plenty of space for me, of course, granted I didn't move very much during the night.
So every night I'd sneak in, kick off my shoes, set up the bed and surf the web until sleep saw fit to steal me away. Every morning I'd throw all of my stuff back together, take the bed apart, and slip out. Hit the restroom right quick to clean up as best as I could and head to my father's room.
So this morning. Knocking. Panic. Trying to find my glasses. Where are my mofugging glasses? Forget it. To the door. Then I hear my grandmother's voice out there too. Oh, thank the heavens. A sheepish unlock and sightless, "Hi.." later, the situation began to clear up. As far as my vision wasn't concerned. It was the same nurse who had given me the room. She was back on duty for the first time in a few days. Apparently while I had been snarkily ignoring my phone, two of those disturbances had been phone calls from my father. Ergh. So they all panicked. The nurse had thought I had been locked out and wandered off elsewhere. Captured by urban pikeys, maybe?
A false alarm and a confirmation. No, I am not supposed to be there. But I haven't actually been exposed. Yet. Only a couple nights to go, so maybe I'll bum here sucessfully...
---
While I was having strange dreams that stole music from the new The Hills Have Eyes, my father had a room upgrade. Yay! This new room is twice the size of the old, actually has a bathroom, and faces Madison Ave.
Over all, he is doing fairly well. That is, nothing is going wrong. He doesn't feel great, but nobody panics when it's part of the plan, right? He's just starting to lose his hair again. His throat is pretty messed up, full of lesions and generating much too much saliva, which he occassionally chokes on. He recently gave in and upped his dosage for the pain medication. He hates being out of it. He says the stuff makes him "loopy." But I'd imagine that having every second being it's own degree of hell is much worse than every second being confusing and dream-like. As a result, he's been spending most of his time sleeping. He doesn't have much energy, can't even lift his own laptop. But once his wbc rises he should feel much better. It's going to be shiz for a week or a bit longer, but after that he should start regaining his strength.
The big thing that we are worrying about is Graft vs Host disease, where basically his body rejects the transplant. He is pretty much guaranteed to get it, but a minor case is actually beneficial (the doctors have never enabled me to understand the why of that.) It's important to continue to watch for it after the first 100 days of the transplant, but can occur as long as a year after. From what I understand, though, if no major complications arise in the next couple of weeks, then things are looking good.
He did have a fever at 4am, but it broke, so I guess nothing is wrong?
It's been 6 mos and a few days now. If things continue this way, within a couple month he'll be back home.
Friday, December 26, 2008
I love the city
And not in a romanticized way. Because that is the only version of it I can know, that lackluster lady as painted by artists of varying disciplines and mediums. This foreign city seems familiar only on the outside, it's thoughts and rhythms dancing along some undercurrent. I can't help myself from falling in love with it. A masked stranger, mysterious. A reclining goddess, dazzling.
I hadn't mean to go tonight. I had meant to wander around Central Park, solo. I figured that as the extent of my realistic possibility. To go down to 42nd alone seemed folly. I just haven't the balls. But as I got up to go out to 5th ave, my father sent Dayanis after me, telling her to take me down to the city. So a short bus trip followed up by a jaunt on the train brings us to the flashy center of the madness with no real objective. So we wandered around, hitting Times Square, Rockefeller, walking down Broadway. It was hella cold and for some reason, more crowded than usual. We speculated that it may be due to the crazy post-Christmas sales (more silver lining in a downspiraling economy.) I'll admit that in the beginning I was irate and distant. My first impression of Dayanis (as with Lindsay, her bff) had been terrible, and beside this idea of her apparent immaturity, I knew nothing about her. It wasn't until we stopped for a late lunch and started chatting for a bit did this image of her die and I managed to warm up to her (as I warmed up my frozen fingers!)
She graduated from Nova in 06. I hadn't known that! Craziness. I ran some names by her but the only one she knew was Geoff. Nobody forgets Geoff! (I AM SMELLIN' LIKE A ROSE...) And teachers of course.She told me about how her class t-shirts were terrible, and someone on her physics class said they were gay, at which point Mr.Roy snapped back "If they were gay, they'd have some sense of style!" She told be about how her friends slashed Mr.Almanzar's tires after they graduated. I cackled. Chat digressed into her current life. She moved to Brookyln to live with her then boyfriend, now fiancee. She is 20! He's 32 and already once divorced. I can't even imagine being engaged within a year. Pure craziness. But she's lonely to an extent now because she left her friends behind, and he works late a good many nights. But love is love, I guess.
Talking to her also made me nervous, because it got me thinking more about my relationship. I'm having a hard time not laying down a future, painting a picture like I've had a tendency to do in the past. As much anxiety as I face when I have to make decisions largely affecting my path, I love to design the skeletal portions of my eventuality so it can be fleshed out in a satisfying way. But I learned how dangerous that is the hard way. So I'm trying to think more like my age. Enjoy the present, let the future figure itself out.
In the city, I don't need or want for a destination, though she kept asking me where I wanted to go. I don't. I just like being there. I like watching the people. I like feeling dwarfed. Plus actually doing anything in the city beside walking its gritty blocks or breathing its tangy air costs mucho dinero. For the first time I'm here on my own dime, so nothankyou I am happy just to walk.
Many of the people were very well dressed. At first I felt a bit embarassed about the lack of effort put into my presentation (some of the women were real bombshells!) but I soon realized that this gave me the incredible power of invisibility. Resentment soon yielded to comfort. I found myself nearly driven mad by a resurging desire to capture these interesting people in sketches or photos, from the dangerously beautiful to the most fantastically lined and chizeled countenances. Especially on the subway. Blacks and browns were enormously popular in winter attire. Those in black only stood out when their gaits were poignant or their beauty near perfect. Creme adorned women were few and breathtaking. And I don't care what anyone says, yes, pink stands out, but by Jove! It is so atrocious.
Allow me to add that women wearing tights in this weather are fucking nuts. I don't understand how one can sacrifice comfort to such an extreme extent to look good. If I were a guy, though those chickadees look damn good, it'd be more of a warning sign: Do not take this woman seriously! Madonna mia.
I really hope to one day be able to wander the city with some of you tykes. For some reason, Coby stands out in my mind as a great companion for such vagrancy. I wish Robob and I had been allowed to do our own thing when we were here two years ago.
I'd like to live here, though only briefly. Just long enough to grow from it. Long enough to shed some anxieties, become more ensteeled. Long enough to knows all the train and bus routes. Maybe I could work in the financial district for a while... Learn the loops then cash out before I become soulless.
---
Back at the hospital, it is very quiet. Diyanis left. My dad and I watch Wheel of Fortune while I try to figure if I've left out any major sentiments in this brief(?) retelling. I am terrible at Wheel of Fortune. I wish Jeopardy was on instead. He is very quiet, the medication has made him sleepy.
I hadn't mean to go tonight. I had meant to wander around Central Park, solo. I figured that as the extent of my realistic possibility. To go down to 42nd alone seemed folly. I just haven't the balls. But as I got up to go out to 5th ave, my father sent Dayanis after me, telling her to take me down to the city. So a short bus trip followed up by a jaunt on the train brings us to the flashy center of the madness with no real objective. So we wandered around, hitting Times Square, Rockefeller, walking down Broadway. It was hella cold and for some reason, more crowded than usual. We speculated that it may be due to the crazy post-Christmas sales (more silver lining in a downspiraling economy.) I'll admit that in the beginning I was irate and distant. My first impression of Dayanis (as with Lindsay, her bff) had been terrible, and beside this idea of her apparent immaturity, I knew nothing about her. It wasn't until we stopped for a late lunch and started chatting for a bit did this image of her die and I managed to warm up to her (as I warmed up my frozen fingers!)
She graduated from Nova in 06. I hadn't known that! Craziness. I ran some names by her but the only one she knew was Geoff. Nobody forgets Geoff! (I AM SMELLIN' LIKE A ROSE...) And teachers of course.She told me about how her class t-shirts were terrible, and someone on her physics class said they were gay, at which point Mr.Roy snapped back "If they were gay, they'd have some sense of style!" She told be about how her friends slashed Mr.Almanzar's tires after they graduated. I cackled. Chat digressed into her current life. She moved to Brookyln to live with her then boyfriend, now fiancee. She is 20! He's 32 and already once divorced. I can't even imagine being engaged within a year. Pure craziness. But she's lonely to an extent now because she left her friends behind, and he works late a good many nights. But love is love, I guess.
Talking to her also made me nervous, because it got me thinking more about my relationship. I'm having a hard time not laying down a future, painting a picture like I've had a tendency to do in the past. As much anxiety as I face when I have to make decisions largely affecting my path, I love to design the skeletal portions of my eventuality so it can be fleshed out in a satisfying way. But I learned how dangerous that is the hard way. So I'm trying to think more like my age. Enjoy the present, let the future figure itself out.
In the city, I don't need or want for a destination, though she kept asking me where I wanted to go. I don't. I just like being there. I like watching the people. I like feeling dwarfed. Plus actually doing anything in the city beside walking its gritty blocks or breathing its tangy air costs mucho dinero. For the first time I'm here on my own dime, so nothankyou I am happy just to walk.
Many of the people were very well dressed. At first I felt a bit embarassed about the lack of effort put into my presentation (some of the women were real bombshells!) but I soon realized that this gave me the incredible power of invisibility. Resentment soon yielded to comfort. I found myself nearly driven mad by a resurging desire to capture these interesting people in sketches or photos, from the dangerously beautiful to the most fantastically lined and chizeled countenances. Especially on the subway. Blacks and browns were enormously popular in winter attire. Those in black only stood out when their gaits were poignant or their beauty near perfect. Creme adorned women were few and breathtaking. And I don't care what anyone says, yes, pink stands out, but by Jove! It is so atrocious.
Allow me to add that women wearing tights in this weather are fucking nuts. I don't understand how one can sacrifice comfort to such an extreme extent to look good. If I were a guy, though those chickadees look damn good, it'd be more of a warning sign: Do not take this woman seriously! Madonna mia.
I really hope to one day be able to wander the city with some of you tykes. For some reason, Coby stands out in my mind as a great companion for such vagrancy. I wish Robob and I had been allowed to do our own thing when we were here two years ago.
I'd like to live here, though only briefly. Just long enough to grow from it. Long enough to shed some anxieties, become more ensteeled. Long enough to knows all the train and bus routes. Maybe I could work in the financial district for a while... Learn the loops then cash out before I become soulless.
---
Back at the hospital, it is very quiet. Diyanis left. My dad and I watch Wheel of Fortune while I try to figure if I've left out any major sentiments in this brief(?) retelling. I am terrible at Wheel of Fortune. I wish Jeopardy was on instead. He is very quiet, the medication has made him sleepy.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Mt.Sinai Day 1
I know it may seem to be a bit early to be reporting about my first day here, but there isn't much going on, so. Yes. Hi. Here's the dealio.
Dropped off at airport around 10 for a 10:50 flight that ended up being delayed til 12:10. An irritating experience, but no big. I managed to stay occupied. Plane ride sucked cos apparently I now get sick on tiny planes. My body used to not care, but the past 2 times I've been on a small plane nausea and headachey fun. Wheee. I maybe sat next to a lesbian. She was very paranoid about flying. She held hands across the aisle with what might have been her lover. Maybe they're just Wifeys.
Driving into the city always makes me nostalgic. Every image is a familiar one even though I wouldn't be able to drive it myself. What a maze! We park, and even the hospital parking is astronomical (12 bucks for the first hour, 37 something for all day.) Of course, the hospital is right across from Central Park. On Madison. Pretty neat.
It is cold and there is snow. Not much. Just leftovers. But there is. Lots of dirty snow in the city. It's so old and colossal. One of the most powerful places in the world, but most of it seems to be crumbling. It made me uncomfortable as I compared it to Dubai. How long before NYC becomes a relic of the past? A wealthy supermodel who's aged so terribly that nobody goes to her glamorous parties anymore. Dubai is an exotic dark-haired bombshell with low taxes and god damn you oughta see the towers on her. NYC is sagging under the weight of it's own weariness.
But I digress. The hospital itself is ridiculously large. It is actually comprised of several buildings which have been connected by glass walls. There are live trees in these areas.. it's neat. Walking through it was spent half in awe, half in frenzied mental map forging.
My father is in a special room behind several doors. It's cos he has no immune system. To enter one must desanitize and don a mask so you can breathe your own air. Which is a lot of fun, really... His room is tinier than my dorm and consists of 3 walls and a curtain between it and the nurses station. Two of the walls are actually air vents. The air in this room is constantly flowing and being filtered. As has been the case whenever his wbc is low, he can only drink sterilized water. Bottled water is a no-no. So it's serious business about the anti-germ-ness. He has 10 or so different little bags IV-dripping into him and he isn't allowed to leave the room.
He makes negative comments a lot. Not that I can blame him. The past 6 months have sucked incredibly. But I still chide and scold him anyway, cos being positive when sick works wonders. Except my chide I mean mock and scold I mean kid. Comparinf his room to my college dorm. Talking about how it is prime real estate because literally, if this was an apartment of the same size in this same location, it would cost more than a grand monthly. And this is all free. So he traded some comfort for better doctors. This is the part where it really counts, the transplant.
So I'm camping here. As usual, my father has captured the affections of all the women around him, so I've been provided with a sleeping-place. I intend to explore the city, or atleast, this general area, during the mornings while I am here. I am aware that my grandparents will try to take me back to their place, but I will resist. Someone needs to stick around with Waffle and keep him cheery. No one else can get away with the kind of tough-love I give him. He gets mad at them.
I guess I should be feeling terrible. But I can't. I'm with him so I'm happy. If things go wrong I'll get upset then. So meanwhile I'll make this into as much of an adventure as I can.
Yep.
Dropped off at airport around 10 for a 10:50 flight that ended up being delayed til 12:10. An irritating experience, but no big. I managed to stay occupied. Plane ride sucked cos apparently I now get sick on tiny planes. My body used to not care, but the past 2 times I've been on a small plane nausea and headachey fun. Wheee. I maybe sat next to a lesbian. She was very paranoid about flying. She held hands across the aisle with what might have been her lover. Maybe they're just Wifeys.
Driving into the city always makes me nostalgic. Every image is a familiar one even though I wouldn't be able to drive it myself. What a maze! We park, and even the hospital parking is astronomical (12 bucks for the first hour, 37 something for all day.) Of course, the hospital is right across from Central Park. On Madison. Pretty neat.
It is cold and there is snow. Not much. Just leftovers. But there is. Lots of dirty snow in the city. It's so old and colossal. One of the most powerful places in the world, but most of it seems to be crumbling. It made me uncomfortable as I compared it to Dubai. How long before NYC becomes a relic of the past? A wealthy supermodel who's aged so terribly that nobody goes to her glamorous parties anymore. Dubai is an exotic dark-haired bombshell with low taxes and god damn you oughta see the towers on her. NYC is sagging under the weight of it's own weariness.
But I digress. The hospital itself is ridiculously large. It is actually comprised of several buildings which have been connected by glass walls. There are live trees in these areas.. it's neat. Walking through it was spent half in awe, half in frenzied mental map forging.
My father is in a special room behind several doors. It's cos he has no immune system. To enter one must desanitize and don a mask so you can breathe your own air. Which is a lot of fun, really... His room is tinier than my dorm and consists of 3 walls and a curtain between it and the nurses station. Two of the walls are actually air vents. The air in this room is constantly flowing and being filtered. As has been the case whenever his wbc is low, he can only drink sterilized water. Bottled water is a no-no. So it's serious business about the anti-germ-ness. He has 10 or so different little bags IV-dripping into him and he isn't allowed to leave the room.
He makes negative comments a lot. Not that I can blame him. The past 6 months have sucked incredibly. But I still chide and scold him anyway, cos being positive when sick works wonders. Except my chide I mean mock and scold I mean kid. Comparinf his room to my college dorm. Talking about how it is prime real estate because literally, if this was an apartment of the same size in this same location, it would cost more than a grand monthly. And this is all free. So he traded some comfort for better doctors. This is the part where it really counts, the transplant.
So I'm camping here. As usual, my father has captured the affections of all the women around him, so I've been provided with a sleeping-place. I intend to explore the city, or atleast, this general area, during the mornings while I am here. I am aware that my grandparents will try to take me back to their place, but I will resist. Someone needs to stick around with Waffle and keep him cheery. No one else can get away with the kind of tough-love I give him. He gets mad at them.
I guess I should be feeling terrible. But I can't. I'm with him so I'm happy. If things go wrong I'll get upset then. So meanwhile I'll make this into as much of an adventure as I can.
Yep.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
Oh man, am I sore.
My index middle and ring fingers suffer from descending levels of soreness from my baby steps with the acoustic guitar.
My right ear is sore from it's brand new piercing.
The back of my throat is sore from where i accidentally hit it with my toothbrush when I was cleaning my tongue.
My mind is sore from avoiding certain topics.
My legs are sore from running around like a madman at work this weekend. Likewise with my feet.
My back is sore from sleeping in odd positions.
My heart is sore because it's fighting my brain for the image of a boy.
I think that's it though. :)
My right ear is sore from it's brand new piercing.
The back of my throat is sore from where i accidentally hit it with my toothbrush when I was cleaning my tongue.
My mind is sore from avoiding certain topics.
My legs are sore from running around like a madman at work this weekend. Likewise with my feet.
My back is sore from sleeping in odd positions.
My heart is sore because it's fighting my brain for the image of a boy.
I think that's it though. :)
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
MY DAMN SHIFT BUTTON IS STILL MESSED UP.
HAI I WORE A skirt today and cut my bangs.
What an ack day.
Braces=dead for a duckett. Reactions thus far?
+Finally.
+Your face looks smaller.
+Your teeth are big.
+How old are you, 14?
+Get some sun!
+You are white and glowy.
+Something looks different....
+Now you're uncool cos you can't grill me. How are you going to get the ladies?
My reaction? Look in mirror. Grin. Yay! Never going back to that place again. No more drowning and suffocating in that manner...
I did a lot of cleaning today. My floor and dresser are visible. Yay.
Peter Lathrop says he is going to visit me at lv.
Ben came over mah house for a lil bit today. Then later he and Tina stopped by lv. Until..
My friends are no longer allowed to visit at lv cos my dad flipped out today cos they're always there distracting me.
Jerry flipped out and will be fired when we get back because of it.
And now Evan wants my address?
Evan: no questions! Mande: :P Evan: heh Mande: ... >< Evan: thnx Mande: makes a face. Evan: do you have the dickerson's addresss? Mande: no but reverse phone works wonders Evan: reverse phone?
What an ack day.
Braces=dead for a duckett. Reactions thus far?
+Finally.
+Your face looks smaller.
+Your teeth are big.
+How old are you, 14?
+Get some sun!
+You are white and glowy.
+Something looks different....
+Now you're uncool cos you can't grill me. How are you going to get the ladies?
My reaction? Look in mirror. Grin. Yay! Never going back to that place again. No more drowning and suffocating in that manner...
I did a lot of cleaning today. My floor and dresser are visible. Yay.
Peter Lathrop says he is going to visit me at lv.
Ben came over mah house for a lil bit today. Then later he and Tina stopped by lv. Until..
My friends are no longer allowed to visit at lv cos my dad flipped out today cos they're always there distracting me.
Jerry flipped out and will be fired when we get back because of it.
And now Evan wants my address?
Mande: whyyyy o_O
oh wait
maybe i just ruined my fun
postcard?
Ricky is sending me a postcard from Alaska x0
Sent at 12:03 AM on Thursday
[address removed.. cos it's the internet]
you're having a party.
maybe for ian. No. why would you mail me that?
you're havign a HAI GUYZ LETS ALL B FRENZ K? party.
xD
you are.. writing ransom letters without taking hostages.
the hostages are all the friends who arent getting along
lol
FYI libido lights are blinking. WTF? But where is Mishko? Idk. New guy. Hopefully he is still around. Though sir Mark agrees that the kid is too old for me. It's okay they'll be off tomorrow.
Sure, but a girl needs something to fantasize about, right? Especially if she can weave a story out of it and flesh him out as a character though in reality she could only write two factual paragraphs about the kid. Maybe a page if she pushed with the details (i.e. he and Fred speak the same language.)
Today? I'm a recalcitrant dreamer with stars in my bones and marrow in my eyes.
FYI libido lights are blinking. WTF? But where is Mishko? Idk. New guy. Hopefully he is still around. Though sir Mark agrees that the kid is too old for me. It's okay they'll be off tomorrow.
Sure, but a girl needs something to fantasize about, right? Especially if she can weave a story out of it and flesh him out as a character though in reality she could only write two factual paragraphs about the kid. Maybe a page if she pushed with the details (i.e. he and Fred speak the same language.)
Today? I'm a recalcitrant dreamer with stars in my bones and marrow in my eyes.
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