I Had Some Stuff I Wanted to Write
I'm in Sacramento now, at my grandparents' house, and I don't know what it is I'm feeling. I just finished reading some Michelle Tea, and it makes me miss school and friends, makes me want to be with lesbians and drinks and drugs, and makes me wish I was a little older and a little harder. Also wish i could write, and live and be with artists and crazies and just things that are alive.
Though I suppose that's not all from the book.
My grandmother is in the hospital, has been for a few weeks, and visiting there is going to stick with me for a while, I think. I've visited two hospitals in two weeks, and the experience will never be something pleasant. There is that hospital smell, that everyone knows, and the doors to each room are open and you can't help but look in and see these old, old people on these old, sad beds and wonder who they are and what they're in for, before you pass and look into another door and forget about the last. As we walked towards her room yesterday, our first time visiting, an old woman sat in a wheelchair in the hallway, loudly whimpering help me, and I almost couldn't take it. I felt like it was a movie, about a bad nursing home, and I hated seeing my grandmother there. My grandmother, who even in her mid-80s has always been full of life, caring, funny, just such a cool grandma. And here she is, lying in bed in a room with two other old women, one who is just batty and the other who vascillates between making loud, almost discernable grunts and lying almost comatose, staring into space. And my grandmother looks weak, and sounds depressed, and her voice is probably permanently scratched from where the tubes scratched her throat, after quadruple bypass surgery and having two valves repaired, and everyone says she's getting better, and everyone believes it but her.
I know she'll be all right. I just don't like any of it, at all.
I should go now, since this is the only usable computer (mine's all but dead, and there's no internet anyway), and my dad needs it. I'll probably say something before I leave for Israel, and then maybe write something about the trip.
Catch you on the flip side, then, I guess...
Though I suppose that's not all from the book.
My grandmother is in the hospital, has been for a few weeks, and visiting there is going to stick with me for a while, I think. I've visited two hospitals in two weeks, and the experience will never be something pleasant. There is that hospital smell, that everyone knows, and the doors to each room are open and you can't help but look in and see these old, old people on these old, sad beds and wonder who they are and what they're in for, before you pass and look into another door and forget about the last. As we walked towards her room yesterday, our first time visiting, an old woman sat in a wheelchair in the hallway, loudly whimpering help me, and I almost couldn't take it. I felt like it was a movie, about a bad nursing home, and I hated seeing my grandmother there. My grandmother, who even in her mid-80s has always been full of life, caring, funny, just such a cool grandma. And here she is, lying in bed in a room with two other old women, one who is just batty and the other who vascillates between making loud, almost discernable grunts and lying almost comatose, staring into space. And my grandmother looks weak, and sounds depressed, and her voice is probably permanently scratched from where the tubes scratched her throat, after quadruple bypass surgery and having two valves repaired, and everyone says she's getting better, and everyone believes it but her.
I know she'll be all right. I just don't like any of it, at all.
I should go now, since this is the only usable computer (mine's all but dead, and there's no internet anyway), and my dad needs it. I'll probably say something before I leave for Israel, and then maybe write something about the trip.
Catch you on the flip side, then, I guess...