Quiet Days

Now that I am off the antibiotics, I get less attention from the nursing staff here.  But that's not to say that they don't like coming and hanging out with me.  A large percentage of the nursing staff is close to my age or younger, and I guess that's why they like taking a little break from their daily patient workload to come chat and chill in the nutty bald gal's room.

Yesterday, my nurse told me I was the healthiest leukemia patient they had on the floor.  If only my bone marrow would get that message and start doing it's dang job.  Dang it.

My days have been pretty quiet as of late.  This morning I organized my library of books, CDs, and DVDs.  Because of the great generosity of friends and readers, I still have quite a stack of unread books.  I thought I'd catalog the various titles I've read since my incarceration in the Big House.  Here they are, in no particular order, what I've read in the past month (And don't be insulted if the book you gifted/lent me hasn't made the list.  I go with what my mood and brain are itching to read at that moment, but trust me, every book will be consumed in good time.):

Hell House by Richard Matheson

20th Century Ghosts by Joe Hill

How Sassy Changed My Life by Kara Jesella and Marisa Meltzer

Suite Francaise by  Irene Nemirovsky

A Cook's Tour by Anthony Bourdain

Fragile Things by Neil Gaiman

Blackgas by Warren Ellis (disturbed the bejeebers out of me)

Heroes, Vol. 1 graphic novel

Duma Key by Stephen King

Roald Dahl's Book of Ghost Stories

Soul Kitchen by Poppy Z. Brite

The Big Over Easy by Jasper Fforde

Twelve books.  Considering I've been here a month, that works out to about three books a week.  Not too shabby.  This isn't counting the fact that I've read my body weight in magazines, nor the daily little nibbles I take from various devotional books. I'm in the process of reading More Jesus, Less Religion by Stephen Arterburn.  And I've watched a fair share of movies and I'm almost through the first season of Arrested Development (then on to tackle season one of Veronica Mars).

My next book was sent to me from my great Yankee girlfriend, Maureen, who also sent me Bunny Suicides.  I'll next be cracking open G. K. Chesterton's The Man Who Was Thursday.  Whatever comes out of my stay here in the Big House, at least I can say I'm well-read.

What the heck was up with Lost last night?  Could they cram more stuff into one episode?  It was like one of those food brick burritos from Chipotle.  The back story and plot twists were just oozing out all over the place like sour cream and guacamole. 

And just in time for Mother's Day, there's this insanity.  Holy junk, lady.  Give your poor uterus a rest.

Finally, an experience that one would only have in the Big House: I woke this morning to find a blood-filled syringe lying next to my thigh.  Not a cause for alarm but weird nonetheless.  Man, I love it here.