going well. So well in fact, that I'm afraid I'll definitely have to revise when I am all done. And THEN I'll
send it to whoever wants it. Please comment whenever you think I should post certain chapters of my story on
here, my blog.
Actually, you know what? That gives me a grand idea. In this blog right now, I will give you an excerpt FROM
the book. Yeah! :) And it will be the best scene I think will receive the most replies, too. :) So anyways, please
follow the little star thingies down below, and after that will be the scene. I hope you enjoy it and comment soon!
Ta! God bless~ ;)
It was a windy day, and....I don't know. I guess I just wanted to say that. That seems like a real good beginning to the story, don't
you think? I think so. Well, I guess I actually do, because it's me. The one who's actually thinking of the past, while sitting in this
little recliner with my name on it. I am seventy years old, and in the back of this stupid, puke brown chair, my name is on it. As if, for goodness
sakes, I am actually in kindergarten instead!
It's my kids' fault. They put me in this jailhouse with the formal name of "nursing home". There is not even no nursing thing about it.
Unless of course, you think about the mean nurses with halloween faces who come over to you and ask how you are. Oh, I'm just fine. I don't say
much, and when I do, I'm practically criticized for saying something!
Okay, you want to have it? Fine. Here is the schedule for every...single...day!
I wake up at six a.m., unless my nurse friend, not really a friend, named Bettie comes over and wakes me up. It's such a stupid schedule.
What if I want to sleep in, huh? Did they ever think of that? No! They get paid for doing nothing! Zip, zero, zacko!
First, there's breakfast. And I swear to my grave that meal is bigger than all of them put together. When you do not eat all your eggs,
bacon, etc., which all smells pretty bad by the way, I swear they throw the food out like there's not ten billion children out there starving
half to death. After breakfast, it's what the people call study time. And oh, no, it's not back-to-college time, it's people who come from town
and give little annoying skits, or else play the piano for so long you can practically feel, much less see, the drool coming from the snoring people
This lasts until noon, strictly, where we have yet a fab meal of whatever they killed the night before. The dessert is even bad, if you can call
jello dessert anymore, or sometimes pudding. The stuff is so jiggly, that I silently and constantly wish people luck with whoever they have to feed.
I'm not being mean or anything, I'm just warning you about nursing homes so you can hope and pray that you never have to go there
before you die!
After lunch, it's nap time. That's a swell time. They escort you via a wheelchair back to your room where you listen to your older
roommate gurgling in their sleep until you find the nightmares inside your own. And THEN, it's snack time. Yes, instead of little cookies and milk
you had when you were little, you have soggy grapes and orange slices that hardly stay whole. Oh, yum! Very seldom do they give you
After that, it's recliner-sitting staring-into-space time where you have a lot to think about but mostly stare into space.
Then at six sharp, it's a wonderful case of the dinner again, and then finally at eight o'clock, it's back to that cot of a bed where
they start the whole day the same way at the exact same times the next day.
Okay, fine. FINE! You want to hear the WHOLE story? I'll tell you....