Actually, I've been fine. I mean, It’s kinda boring, I guess. I’m really Bored in here, but glad you came. Yesterday there was a Change of pharmacy. Sent to voicemail. The bills are worse than the Doctors, if you can believe it. You know, Every time I wake up, I feel like I’m Flickering. In and out, in and out. Fourteen different channels but not one of them interesting enough. This bed is uncomfortable. But the nurses are Great. They’re doing their best. It’s not their fault. Every day I get Healthy breakfasts of microwaved eggs and rubbery ham. Maybe I’d be able to eat if I wasn’t so Itchy. These gowns are itchy. Every time I go on walks, the smell hits me all at once. A miasma of bleach, with a hint of withering flowers and urine. But the bright ass lights are worse than the lukewarm Jello packets and constant late-night bloodwork. I've started Kicking the bed and hoping it shatters, Like a test tube. Like the window if they don’t let me out soon. Like Mom’s flowery plates. Remember when you broke one on Thanksgiving? She was pissed. I can't wait to- No, leave the blinds closed- thank you. They told me I need more Oxycodone. They’re bringing me more, they said. I’m tired of everything looking so Pale. Pale yellow vomit buckets. Pale people outside, Quietly dying, like how Lucy did, but she was an old dog. She had a long life. We used to take her on walks around the lake, remember? My hands get cold at night, so I Run them over the heating pad you brought me. Hey, sis? Can I offer you a Suture for your troubles? I've started picking at The IV dressing. I hate how it feels, under my skin, burrowing. I hate how the people on the phone always use the word Unfortunately. Unfortunately we cannot help you. We can unfortunately only cover one of your treatments, unless you travel to Cambodia and complete our sun trials at exactly 3 PM on a Wednesday. It’s never easy. Then when I call again it’s Voicemail, all the time. It’s always We will be with you shortly! And I just think, go fuck yourself. You will not be with me shortly. You were never with me. The specialists send me to get X-rays, MRIs, and the like. Sometimes I wish You’d visit more often, but I know you have work. That’s okay. I’m fine, I told you. But the nurse did give me another Zoloft. For the road, she said.