One month ago, I fled my apartment and (with much reluctance) went back to City Shelter. Almost immediately, I caught a cold, and an incontinent bladder. My popularity was not great.
One week later, I went back to my apartment, hoping only to get rid of it with rest and (perhaps) better food. I was driven back by the hellish conditions after one night.
Two weeks ago, I caught gastroenteritis, and began to soil myself. Some ORT later, I was described as smelling "fishy". A general epidemic folllowed in the shelter.
One week later, I caught (I thought) another cold. I went to a motel this time, and had an asthma attack (I thought). I went to St. Rafael's for emergency treatment.Somewhat later, I was discharged, minus a promised dinner of steak from the Room Service.
One day later, I went back to the shelter, where I spent one night, vowing to return to the motel to pick up my clothing. On my way there, I stopped to eat a hamburger and fries at a local high-end eatery.
Several hours later, I began vomiting. I went back to the hospital, and was found to have a severely herniated small intestine. Six hours of surgery later, I emerged with a sore belly, and a newfound interest in cable television.
Now I am in the Rehab Building, where I've fallen prey to strange dreams, possibly through watching Adventure Time and Galaxy Quest, and perhaps reading Remains of the Day and Cory Doctorow's Chicken Little.
Dream One: I'm living with some young men who enjoy two obsessions: dancing and incense. Although not a good dancer, I win their interest by showing them a new kind of incense.
Dream Two: I'm in New York City, and in a new kind of bar: there are huge pictures of cocktails on the wall, with their prices. The tables are arranged on a flight of stairs to simulate a sea coast.