Season: Summer
Weather: Sunny, I guess from the look out the window. In hospital.
Day of the week: Thursday
Date: 9th February, 2024
THE biggest boss of all stole my pen yesterday and forced me to lie down and close my eyes. He stroked my head and hummed a song. Who would have thought that I'd fall asleep so quickly and sleep so soundly until he woke me up for dinner? It had been such a good sleep. One of the best ever. Why was that?
Dinner had been a cream of chicken soup, boiled beef slices with roasted beetroot and mashed potatoes with sautéed broccolini. It had been pretty good. Dessert was a custard tart, a mini trifle that only contained jelly, whipped cream and a sponge cake slice, (no alcohol), and a fruit salad. There was so much of it, I couldn't finish it, much as I wanted to. It tasted so good.
Unfortunately, in trying to finish it, I threw it all up and in the end could only stomach more soup to pad my stomach. I was so upset at the wasted food that I had cried. THE biggest boss of all had gone out for his dinner and had been surprised to return to see the nurses trying to comfort my sobbing self. I felt so embarrassed by my childish behaviour that upon seeing him, I had hidden under the blankets and then had thrown up again.
The nurses helped me away to the shower while he left the ward room for a while. I was out of breath and so tired after the shower that I had only managed to eat my jelly cup before falling asleep.
This morning, for breakfast, they didn't give me so much food. I ate my one slice of toast and small bowl of oatmeal with gratefulness. Even then, I felt full to bursting. I supposed my stomach had shrunk again at some stage.
Lunch was equally small, so as not to give me any anxiety over being unable to finish the food. I got a bowl of soup and a packet of toasted sandwiches. And an orange jelly cup.
Good news is that the therapists and doctors feel that if I remain stable and do well today, I can probably go home tomorrow. The downside is that they have recommended I don't go to work for a little longer and that I should either move in to live with somebody or have somebody move in to live with me or at least have the keys to my apartment to check on me every day, in order to ensure I was doing well.
This has resulted in Stony Boss and THE biggest boss of all having an argument over who should hold the keys to my apartment. In the end, they decided that they would both have a copy. I didn't even get to have a say. All I can do is shrug. Don't they feel it even slightly inappropriate that they should have the keys to a woman's apartment like this, especially when the woman is one of their workers? Can't they see that I feel uncomfortable about all this? Are they even going to stop and think about how this could damage their reputation in the eyes of others?
Should I mention it and bring this up with them? But they're big bosses. They ought to know and have already thought through the possible consequences. And I... I was actually not that adverse to them having a key. Just in case I nearly died in my apartment again.
Then again, couldn't they at least have asked the lady boss to be the one who checks on me? Or some other female colleague? Why did they have to do it personally? What was wrong with them?
It couldn't be that they're really serious about chasing me and wanting to be in a relationship with me. Just look back at the sort of things the shameless boss had written in my journal the other day when he hijacked my pen.
I was confused. Really confused. I didn't know what to think. I had already rejected them both. Why did they both still think they had a chance to woo me like this? What gave them the confidence that they'd even be willing to win me over?
Cute, my stinky foot. I wasn't cute and I knew it. Being cute earned a person nothing but sore and pinched cheeks, and gave other people the sense that it would be possible to manipulate you for their own gains. What was so cute about me that made them all feel that it was ok to invade my privacy but not someone else's? I've already told them how I felt about them peeking at my journal. Is my explosion of temper not enough for them? Do I have to do more than throwing pillows and puffing my cheeks? Maybe I should do more shouting? But then that might disturb other people. I can't shout.
Look at my drab, limp and brittle hair. Everything about it screamed unhealthy and malnourished. Look at my gaunt face and bony figure. One would think I was a famine disaster victim. Granted my frame was finally starting to fill out, but I couldn't see a single positive attractive feature in my entire body. Even my eyes were dull and muted. No life in them. Just dark eye bags and deep eye sockets that scared even me when I saw myself in the mirror.
Crying or not crying made no difference to my situation. Even with all the compensation and back pay, what was I meant to do if I wasn't able to go to work? I still needed to keep earning money. I needed to find ways to make the evil guy back home think I was miserable and suffering, with a modicum of physical evidence so that if he sent someone to check on me, it would indeed look like I was struggling for my life.
Just thinking about how I was going to write my monthly report to Bezel's evil best friend made me feel sick and even more tired. What should I do? The deadline was on the fifteeth.