All weekend, I've been pissing and moaning about how bored I am here in The Big House. Nothing to do than read, wander the halls, watch bad TV*, dork around on the internet, and avoid my writing responsibilities. As usual, my side effects from this round of chemo haven't kicked in quite yet. More than likely, I'll get home and start feeling like utter poo within a day or two as my blood counts collapse and the inside of my mouth turns into the Cryptkeeper.
This morning I was sitting my nice cozy fat people chair when a strange burbling sound started coming from my bathroom. I peeked in to see gross, fetid water coming up through the drain in the middle of the floor. The watery sludge coated the floor of my bathroom then stopped. About ten minutes later, it started to stink like sewage. The nurses called maintenance, I took a nice long walk around the hall, then wheeled my recliner over to the door to get away from the stench of hospital swamp ass.
Two very friendly maintenance guys came up, evaluated the situation, and returned some time later with equipment. By this time, The Mister and Little A were here to visit and have lunch. All the grinding and whirring that emitted from the bathroom was of some fascination to Little A who informed the nurses that "two plumbers were in the bathroom unplugging mommy's drain with machinery."
The mess has been cleaned up and drain unclogged (supposedly), but I am still a little leery about taking a shower should the terror from beneath return. Oh and the smell is still lingering, but thankfully I keep room spray in my arsenal of hospital goodies. My room has the crisp fall odor of cinnamon and cloves, with a light underpinning of raw human waste.
Everyone's jealous, I know. I'm an awesome cancery mess with a stinky room.
In other less insulting to the olfactory senses, Friday night my mom acted as my broker and sold my homemade jewelry at our church's little annual craft show. She raked in a little over a hundred dollars which isn't too shabby considering most of my pieces range from $2-$7. Yeah, I'm a crafty, geeky gal who loves to make cocktail rings, earrings, and embellish frames with vintage buttons. Right before the Stupid Zombie Leukemia cells crept up and started funking with my life, I had even planned on opening an etsy site.
So if you want to do some early Christmas shopping, support me and my goofball hobby, drop me a line about making some jewelry for you or your beloved. I've got a few pictures of my work on file from back when I was trying to get the etsy business off the ground; otherwise I could whip up a surprise piece or something. I'm no pro, but hey, who can beat a $5 custom ring of your very own.
Okay, shutting down the self-promotion machine now! On to brave the shower!
* I somehow conned myself into watching the second Lara Croft movie (Gerard Butler! Who knew!) yesterday. Seriously, what has happened to Angelina? She was always on the slender side, but compare her now with the Angie of Lara Croft days and girlfriend is downright skeletal. Back then she had a shape, now her shape is more like post-Dachau. It's all those damn kids, sucking the life out of her. I'm planning an intervention to IHOP.