i had a catchy title

but i forgot it somewhere between my ninth glass of water and the patient i was sitting with telling me i wasn't supposed to be gay after he asked if there was a bible in the room. [i wish i was kidding, guys, i really, really, really, really do. the guy propositioned me. i politely declined. he waited a couple of minutes. then he asked me if i was a homo. he used just that word. i told him it wasn't an appropriate topic of conversation. he pressed on (having just had his trach removed, his voice was soft and hard to understand at times) and i asked him "does it really matter?" and he said yes, it did. he then dropped it and said it didn't matter. a little while later "it's been a while," he says, glancing at his groin. "it happens" i say, willing to be sympathetic but clear that i'm not here to do something about it. a little while later, while discussing his frustration with the hospital, the beeping, the monitoring, the discomfort, he asks for comic books. we talk about having one of his kids or wife bring one in or pick one up. then he asks for a bible. i tell him i don't think we have one in the room. then he says "you aren't supposed to be gay." "are you saying what i *think* you're saying?" he nods. i get the charge nurse, sign off on the sheet and tell him that my sexuality has nothing to do with his care and that we don't talk about this in a patient/care giver setting. if we were friends having coffee, that would be a totally different situation, but i am not going to sit with you, anymore, someone else will be coming in a moment. the charge nurse nodded her agreement and i was grateful for her support. i then commenced running around to the point of having a sweaty ass in less than twenty minutes.]

but i digress, we were talking about Jesus....

kimmyk writes that she cried in church this morning. lots of folks responded in kind.

not me.

i've worked so many days in a row they are running together. the pool. the hospital. the kids. the hospital. the kids.

i picked up a couple more private swim lessons. they bring in bigger bucks for me. my goal is to pay off the smallest credit card this summer before the new loans come due. i may defer them to pay down another. i had a swim lesson at 10:30; my preferred hour of church service. they chant the Our Father as well as most of the service and feed you delicious honey bread and sweet wine all in under an hour, unlike my former church home which felt more like a political public service announcement and never got out in under 90 minutes, only feeding you once a month, and seldom mentioning Jesus.

i texted the House Mate: my only shot at church is 8:30, wanna come? i got the all go. i was in charge of making coffee. it was a *much* smaller service, and we didn't chant the Hey, Daddy. but it was still good to be there. to sit there.

after communion i sat there with my forehead on the back of the pew in front of me long or heavy enough to leave a red dent which stayed through the dismissal. it's just been an interesting time.

i returned home to learn my 10:30 lesson cancelled so that i could sit in the sun and enjoy the next hour before heading to the pool. after swimming for 2 and a half hours with other people's kids. after walking slowly in the sun to the hospital and chatting with my sisters on the phone while they finish the deck i am travelling home to help christen next weekend, i sat on a bench and read for a few more minutes before relinquishing to my evening on the floor.

i was wearing a kicking little shirt high in attitude i got in NYC while visiting a friend last march during my first quarter break. i remembered how i wore it to class the first week beck in class and was called up to read my team's response to some group questions. i watched myself glare at the professor and ask her opinion on my new commentary on nursing, spread across my chest like peanut butter on jelly. and it hit me like a ton of bricks.

i was so pissed at my life coming back from that break. i remember openly bawling as i put the key in the door back at my apartment. not weeping, not sighing, not crying. actively, openly, bawling at the prospect of having to wake up in seven hours and give my life back over to what i had left not five days earlier: spending seven days a week in the hospital. in class. at work. in clinical. in the library. i thought about my having moved nine miles south to be within walking distance of school to help with my truancy habit.

i was dying inside and i couldn't even see it. but sitting there, outside the hospital this afternoon, i saw every poor decision, every lashing out, every pissed off edge i wore like a two foot mohawk in those halls. i was pissed at my decision to stay in a place and with people who weren't supportive of me. all they said was "we find that people who decide to work while they are in are in our program are not successful." read: we will not do anything to help you.

i had moved away from and removed myself from everything i new as supportive. i wasn't teaching kids. i wasn't nannying. i wasn't seeing friends.

...

i did it to myself and i removed myself from anyone who could have told me otherwise, not that i would have listened to them, anyway.

...

KimmyK, i'm glad there's a place i can go where it's okay to cry every time i walk in the door.