I will keep it short. I am exhausted and very frustrated at me, at you (aka world in general), at that fucking hospital. We seem to be pulling John through his most recent crisis, but not without hours of time and gallon of tears. Time to eat some grapes and a molten-lava-cake-to-go and call it a night. Supportive comments are not unappreciated, or does anyone (including me) read this blog anymore?

At today’s marathon wait for bureaucrats to come and give me a moment of their time, I killed the hours at John’s bedside (since John slept most of the day) by watching that stupid show Storage Wars, fake-o reality show about people who bid on storage space contents that have been seized for non-payment. Whee.

One of the episodes took place at my very own storage space building in Oxnard, where I rent two (crazy hoarder lady alert) spaces for my incredibly important stuff.

I had a weird stomach-dropping feeling, watching these nitwits wander around MY storage space building, and somehow half-expected, when they broke the locks and lifted the metal doors, that it would be MY possessions that would be auctioned off. It was uncanny. I kept thinking I recognized a lamp or a box or a chair. So weird.

Then of course I thought: “TAKE IT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD” and “PUT A MATCH TO IT” and “LEAVE ME MY BED, THANK YOU”.