I answer calls from patients' rooms. So even though I haven't seen a baby being born, I have heard it. Crazily enough, I still want to have sex.
The St. Paddy's Greenville block party has come and gone this year, and I completely missed it. That's what happens when you freelance for a fucking deadbeat. It was awful not being able to go this year. It was a perfect spring day. It would have been a guaranteed good time. My future husband probably shagged some other chick and got herpes so now I don't want him and he was perfect for me.
Instead of keeping my future husband disease-free, I watched Titanic in my pajamas. I always cry when the mom is telling the kids the bedtime story so they won't freak out and when they show the old couple clinging to each other, waiting for the water to come. But this year, it was all the Irish music that made me saddest. Stupid steerage passengers party scene. And my friends got free Jell-o shots. What a gyp.
My new job is hard. I can't remember who anyone is or where to find them. I know who this one nurse is, though.
She's Irish.
No comments:
Post a Comment