Sick Days

Five hours. Do you realize how long that is? Especially for a fifteen year old girl who is sitting in the hospital breathing in gasses that hold medicine that is supposed to cure her and make her feel better. However, obviosuly the medicine isn't as good as they say. Otherwise, I would have gotten away with one dose, not five. But instead I sat and sat and sat, breathing and watching smoke rise up from the little mask on my face (and by the way, I still have lines on my face from where the mask pressed against my face).

Even with Suzanne Collins' book the Hunger Games, I was ridiculously bored. I finished the second book, read a couple chapters of the third. I even stopped between books to guess what would happen in the next book before I began reading.

So, now I am home again, and my breathing is still not 100% normal, although at this point I don't even remember what normal is. And I am bored, again. And no, I will not continue reading because, even though I was not reading the whole five hours, three or so hours is still a long time to read. And frankly, I'm sick of reading. And I don't want to do any of the homework that is heaped in a pile beside my bed. I mean, I know I would normally be sitting in history class right now. But since I'm not, it seems perfectly ridiculous to even consider reading the history chapter (which should have been finished yesterday).

Instead, I'll find some other way of entertaining myself before finally giving in to the dreaded school. Although, I remain convinced that school would have been better than sitting in a hospital trying to remember how to breathe.