I almost feel at home here.
Wag came to visit and he brought everything I need. Chocolate - check, almonds - check, he even went all the way to the fourth floor for some coffee - check, my precious iPod - check, I have everything I want!
Wag's been asking me if I've done any of those "things to do when I'm free" lists.
Well, no, I haven't done any. Yet. And I wonder: what good are they for? It's already so warm and well in here.
It's my lair.
The nightstand is full of clothes - mine, half the bed is a dirty mess - mine, I go to the toilet in just my jammies - I need no robe, it's home!
I suspect a twisted case of Stockholm Syndrome.
I realise I'm the one keeping this hospital alive: the dozens of nurses would be unemployed, the peasant's milk would not be drunk, chicken carcasses would be wasted instead of deliciously cooked alongside potatoes, the government's money would be wasted on something actually useful instead of paying the heat for this place (there are 0℃ outside but we keep both windows open because it's just too warm).
The Hospital is a living thing and slowly I feel my roots getting deeper into its flesh, becoming part of it.
It's so warm and welcoming, I'm giving up, I'll become an appendage. The parasitic Silly!
