Every time I see one I end up outside needing to pee

Give me the great big red letters that spelled EXIT in a very firm and familiar way.

Why’d they go fuck with it?

I had my second cataract surgery yesterday. The nurse asked if this was my second eye and I said my third and she was so surprised she laughed and laughed which encouraged me to try it out on a couple of others who I guess had heard it before or were maybe just grumpy.

I was in a brand new hospital wing which was actually more than a wing but without getting poultricidal on you (sorry I’m on a bit of a kick I just wrote a story about a woman who made so many quilts she put over the bed at night her husband accused her of quilticide) this new wing opened in Feb and it was like going into a mall so bright and wide and a big staircase, so many options, but signage was definitely an issue as in vague and/or absent.

I ended up in wrong places consecutively

So I squinted at a little sign and followed the arrow and went to the eye clinic first but it felt a little off-grid so I went back to the main entrance but the woman working there behind the glass I think it was her first day or maybe she just took a wrong turn and ended up in that chair because she had, if possible, less of a clue than me, but she directed me to ophthalmology on the second floor and when I got there the lady said go to admitting, it’s downstairs between Lululemon and Aritzia – no, not really – so off I went in my cataract cloud looking for admitting but could only find reception and in my mind receptions are different and there’s usually wine so I kept looking and when you’re going for cataract surgery looking has not been your forté for a while and also no coffee for the second morning of my adult life so I was decidedly unintelligent but there are people around to ask although mostly they seem to be in various states of bewildericide but I found someone by surprise who looked stern and knowledgeable and she said reception IS admitting like she was some kind of fucking theasaurus and while we’re on it, typing this is like little splashes due to the surgery.

I’ll have to look into this maybe get somebody to make an app that gives your typing some oomph – it’s extremely satisfying – so this post will prob be too long if it’s not already

When I finally got to the eye department legit, they gave me my first drops and you just have to sit there for an hour and that’s when I saw they quite badly need a leader in that department because, and here comes your second paltry poultry reference, they were like a bunch of chickens running around with their heads the way South Park drew Harry and Meghan that animator needs a fucking Oscar.

And you need to watch South Park’s World Wide Pravacy Tour here.

They give you a sedative, intravenously, right before surgery when you’re horizontal and comfortable in a dazzled sort of way. She said I’m giving you the sedative now I said I’m here for you and a slice of a second something bloomed right in the centre of my head and I was amazed how accurate that drug was aimed just to the right place it was such a controlled mini-trip accompanying my own personal lightshow, the whole thing was the duration of Satisfaction and just the beginning of another Stones song I can’t remember but it was a colossal improvement on the hour-long instrumental version of Bette Midler’s Wind Beneath My Wings which I endured in a sloppy way while dilating, and I and am still trying to shake the dumb words and stupid tune out of my lopsided head.

While I was there some contractor guy came in with one of those three-tiered racks they put your chart in and he asked where they wanted it and of course they couldn’t decide those chickens but then somebody, who I would like to nominate for leader in their not-exactly-but-close-to Lord of The Flies existence, said right here so it’s closer and it was on the edge of a corner and on the other side was the washroom and I bet there will be people who will have to explain the three gashes on their arms they got at the hospital.

Also there are doors with huge black UP arrows printed on sheets of paper and that’s all.

Like isn’t that fucking implied with all doors?

I mean without words those arrows are daunting in a perfectly hilarious way, well worth the surgery, watching people stop and try to figure it out. OMG.

And there was this one woman who had been deposited in the eye clinic from another department – she was the only non-pirate among us – and she was elderly and frail just sort of swaying there under her bag of intravenous and nobody knew from whence she came and she couldn’t say anything much about it, there was talk about a daughter probably lost and frantically searching for her. Somebody noticed the intravenous wasn’t dripping and they all came around and alarmed the poor woman, only one of them, the same one that decided (wrongly) where the chart holder should go, but at least she had some empathy and patted the woman’s arm and said everything’s fine ma’am you don’t have a thing to worry about and that’s when she, the swaying lady, made eye contact with me and the way she rolled her eyes was as direct as the heroin or whatever it was they gave me I mean she conveyed everything she was thinking right at me, it was remarkable, and I smiled and we understood one another in a deep, snarky, and satisfying way.

When they finally rolled her off (too fast but maybe it was my liquidy eyes) she gave me a royal wave and I said good luck, Chuck she said you, too, Sue. And then not much happened except people getting lost and the way people approached/hesitated at doors with arrows was so funny I was dying and then they called my names.

Sharon is my given name everybody calls me Sherry, no middle name, so I noticed my name on the sheet was, according to my ophthalmologist, Sharon-Sherry Cassells, so when they called Sharon-Sherry I put up both hands.

I am typing into this screen with apprehension, I mean it’s so extraordinarily white in this world today even Daisy and Lily are too bright which is not an intelligence-related comment.

I have two days off and should probably not, but you know I’ll be writing stories and posting to a blog near you soon, which reminds me of something Lynne’s first friend Joey said when they were kids.

His mom was trying to find where a movie was playing and she was frustrated, she couldn’t figure it out from the newspaper or over the phone, and he hollered from the living room MOM! IT’S PLAYING AT A THEATRE NEAR YOU!