The Operation

A few months ago I had to have an operation, as to why I will spare the details and just say my Uterus is retarded. More retarded than what a Uterus would already be. In fact, it is so retarded I just had to draw a picture to further illustrate the lack of flair my organ had.

Let us skip the small crap and turn to the day of the operation. Upon entering the hospital for my operation, stripping down and putting on the cold uncomfortable hospital gown I was lead to the ‘waiting’ room. I was given a heated blanket to wrap around me since they decided to keep the waiting room at a constant chilling temperature. I believe that this is for those relatives/friends of patients who also sit in the waiting room. It will give them all some sort of common cold, thus, creating the need for medical expenses, and thus giving the Medical Industry profit.

After waiting, for a surprisingly short amount of time, I was taken into the Operating room, it was filled with around three female nurses, one male nurse and a doctor. I remember them pricking me with various needles and telling me to breathe hard deep and slow through some sort of breathing apparatus.I also remember complaining that my nose was itchy, before falling completely unconscious. Afterwards, when I woke up, I realized two things.

1) My nose was still itchy, damn bastards didn’t itch it like I had asked.
2) I was in some foreign part of the hospital, it was dark and isolated.
Now, I looked something like this, since I was heavily sedated and in my heavily sedated state I figured something was wrong, hence my reaction

I was under the impression something was wrong, so I tried to climb out of the bed, not realizing it had wheels, and ended up tumbling to the floor and unpleasantly vomiting on the floor. Now this sort of action caught the attention of a nurse, I have no idea where the hell she came from, but she whisked me up, shoved me in the bed and wheeled me away to a more bright, social part of the hospital. Apparently I had woken up earlier than anticipated and they hadn’t yet moved me to the right ward.

See I am just that damn awesome, the sedative drugs couldn’t even keep me down!

After eating some orange coloured jelly that tasted mysteriously like more medicine I was finally able to go home.

Now, since I was to continue taking painkillers, I was very much useless, I remember crawling to the kitchen to try and boil the kettle. I coudln’t lift it up and ended up falling asleep on the kitchen floor.

I woke up some 10 minutes later, and managed to crawl back to the couch. It was at this point I decided I couldn’t function alone. So got back up, my friend came along and spent the night with me.

I’m fair sure he was taunting me the entire time. Pointing and laughing.

Well, jokes on him. He is allergic to cats, and my cat was ever so loving and affectionate toward him, he more than probably inhaled his weight in cat hair.


It took me a week to get used to the medication and stop seeing blurred hallucinations and zombies.


End.

Sienna Showers

I have often pondered if my beloved cat, Sienna had any sort of mental deficiency. Perhaps it had to do with a traumatic past, as hers was less than pleasant. The feisty feline often finds herself locked in cupboards, fridges and empty rooms. She sleeps on doorframes and licks windows. She ineffectively tries to hide in my jumpers, whilst I am wearing them might I add, and I am fair sure that the amount of fur she sheds is borderline demonic. Or perhaps godly, whichever one involves more fur.

This instance is just one of many a strange happenings in which she is given the lead role.

Now, I live by my lonesome, so I tend to shower with the door open, so the tiny mirrors in my bathroom don’t fog up. Why? Because I am a woman, I don’t need logic, in fact I probably function better without it. The presence of sense or logical/tactical planning and actions would more than likely cause my meek brain to spontaneously combust. When showering I hear Sienna meowing, with a rather pathetic tone of despair upon her vocal chords.

So, I peered out from my tasteless heart covered shower curtain to see her teetering on the edge of the bath, looking up at me with sad doe eyes. I pushed her off and continued my daily ritual of cleaning away the dirt that had decided to stick ever so stubbornly to my skin. Again, I hear her meowing, so I pull the curtain to the side expecting to push her off or away from the steaming cascade of water.

Boy was I wrong.

She had chosen to fling her furry body into my wet unclothed one, perhaps in an attempt to comfort herself, or annoy me. Perhaps she was just curious about the water coming from the showerhead. Who knows, all I knew is that I was wet, naked and had a now wet and furry cat in my arms.

I’d just like to point out that it is a rather unnerving and uncomfortable feeling to be pelted in the back by water, whilst holding a shivering cat, who could potentially snap at any second and claw little tiny holes into my delicate meaty skin.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was more than likely a few seconds, she had chosen to jump down from my arms, and instead of fleeing from the room she chose to sit at the opposite end of the bath, staring at me and expecting me to do something.

She looked like a sad, drowned rat.

What am I? Some sort of miracle worker? Do I snap my fingers and she becomes dry? No, no I am not a miracle worker, if I was I certainly wouldn’t b

e standing there naked in a bath with my pet cat. Then again I am a bit of an oddball and such a thing might just occur even if I did have miracle like powers.

I finished bathing, dried off, got dressed then attempted to towel off my cat. Who was more than appreciative.

To this day, I still do not know why she decided to join me in the shower, but now, whenever I step into the cleansing waters and I hear her the eerie echoing cries I choose to leave the shower curtain safely closed.

One day, I know she will figure out that she can easily pass through said curtain, I dare not think about such a dark day. For now, all I can do is shower in cautious optimism in hopes that such a day will never come.

Dear Mosquitoes

Dear Mosquitoes

Screw you.
Why do you pick the most inappropriate hard to itch areas to stick your invasive prick of a nozzle in?
Sure, you could land on my arm and have a bit of a drink, heck even my shoulder or my legs would seem logical.
But no.You choose to go for the bottom of my feet; don’t you realize that the soles of a person’s feet consist of thick skin? Do you not realize how annoying it is to have a burning itching sensation every time I take a step?

I want to ask how you even managed to get to the bottom of my feet, considering I was wearing thick socks and boots at the time. Sure, I took my boots off but you had legs arms and even shoulders to sample on. So why go for the

bottom of my feet?

Do you hang around and take pleasure in watching me suffer? Is that why I hear that incessant squeal of a buzz at night as I try and sleep? That’s the sound of your sadistic laughter isn’t it? You are just mocking me aren’t you?

You find my suffering amusing. I am just some sort of sick ‘live entertainment’ to you, a sort of reality TV show. Do you film me too? So you can retreat to your worthless shack of a home and watch my anguish? Does it sustain you? Do my groans and mumbles of annoyance make you happy? Does watching me struggle fulfil your desires?

You, Mrs Mosquito and your female companion –oh yes that’s right I know, you have a whole group. I am on to you all. You, all of you are horrid little creatures. You should be ashamed of yourselves.

Just for once, go pick on someone else.

Go find another fetish that doesn’t involve my feet.

I have nothing nice to say to you, or your group of feet loving misfits.

Did you all get ostracized from the mosquito community because of your feet sucking ways? If so I am not surprised. Did you even GET any blood from me when you chose to aim for my soles?

Just because you got kicked out of the mosquitoes little niche’ of popularity doesn’t mean you have to go pick on me. There was a reason why they kicked you out. Instead of praying on me and my poor defenceless feet, I suggest going back to your seedy homes and having a good long hard think about what you are doing and if it is even worth it.

Next time you want to stick your noses into my business why not try an arm or leg? Jeez I even hear that the hand is got a nice bold flavour to it lately. Personally, I’d prefer you stay away from me completely however the courts laughed at my attempt of getting a restraining order against you. However I know that is not going to happen.

So I implore you.

Stay the heck away from my feet.

Sincerely,

Tiffany.