Still fragile

Dave and Jessie asked how Oma’s doing now. The short answer is: I don’t know. I went to see her on Monday and found her to be a lot more perky than she had been on Sunday, but the nurse was dressing her arm, and the wound from where she fell was the size of my fist, and suppurating (ha, I learnt a new word at work from editing transcripts of Michael Hurst talking about Macbeth and the transcriber had written “soppy raging sores” and I thought that was what it was, and my mentortype person raged/laughed at me), and her arm around it was all black and rotton and it just made me feel so bad to look at it. Oma was talking much clearer, but the battery in her hearing aid was flat, so it was like the worst conversation ever, and I fled after twenty minutes. She was supposed to go home today, with someone coming in to check on her and change her bandages and stuff, and I think Mum was going to go with her for a bit, but apparently she’s not as well as she thought she was. My cousin Jacinta’s written about how Oma is a stroppy Dutch woman (and I also found out she’s 87), but she’s so teeny tiny and from everythign I’ve ever heard, strokes aren’t something that are that easy to get over. But she IS doing better.

Did you read between the lines in the previous paragraph where I listed the people who took the time to find out more about the things that are affecting me in my life right now? Yeah. This causes a conflict in me, because yes, I turned off the comments on my last entry because I didn’t want a string of “hope she gets well soon!” nothingness, because I know that I hate having to do that publically too, but you know, I’m not exactly very hard to get ahold of. Ick, yes, I’m making this all about me, when she’s the one who’s sick.

Speaking of being all about me, and all about the people I know over the interweb, and my insecurities and everything else, I’m having my not-in-hospital Birthday & Flatwarming and Halloween Drinks on October 29th, and you should come, please. I’m calling it drinks cos I’m scared I won’t have enough friends to make it a ‘party’, so I will try to keep expectations low key so as to avoid disappointment. Please bring a friend, and you get bonus points if you come in costume, and super super bonus points if you a) dress up as me or b) come in a bear costume.

In keeping with my Wellingtonisa post about Drinking Wellington on the Cheap, Karen and I went to Chow for cocktails and then dinner tonight. Her apartment isn’t up to fire standards. The builders suuuuuuuuuuck. Then we tried to come up with metaphors to be the opposite of “I love you like meat loves salt” for how much I hate someone (I am petty. I need to let things go). She texted me after I got home to say that I hated her like ten thousand spoons when all I needed was a knife, and also that she’d forgotten to give me Gareth’s book, yet again. I think Wellington needs a large system of tubes, or flying monkeys. That’d rock.

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