The Queen

I AM the Queen of Nf2. I TOTALLY motherfucking rule! I AM surviving this third mondo neurosurgery of the past 13 months. Hells bells mes amis, I eat acoustic neuromas for brekkie and scarf meningiomas at snack time.

OK, that was gross….nevermind.
On this eighth morning post OR, YES, I’m in pain but my Courbet BRING-ME-MORPHINE-NOW levels have mostly passed. I took ALL my asshole affliction alleviators 30 minutes ago and am now semi-comfortably down to Albrecht Dürer Land. In hospital, I hit Munch World  on the regular. That’s not happened since coming home. YEA me!

I’ve been thinking about that reductive and not terribly clever catchphrase “Never ASSUME, because when you ASSUME, you make an ASS of U and ME.” Oh please. We all need to make a few assumptions every single day. What’s key is knowing your limits.

Yeah, I’m thinking about that twatish night nurse again. She assumed that all deafies are magical beings, not needing light or auditory nerves to hear AND that I’d welcome, in these Plague45 days, her removing her mask, getting WAY too close and personal so's she could sugar-ooze into my face.

I REALLY like and try my level best to see and interact with each person I meet on a wickedly individual basis. No assumptions. Having said this, I can’t ignore all that I’ve come to know over my long years on the planet. Shit like, the women who rock patrician airs as they go about assisting us plebs, are clearly from wealthy backgrounds and seem to feel I should be grateful that they deign to bless me with their ungraceful presence. (no, I get my hair done on Tuesdays. Monday’s my day to help those poor, needy sick people at the hospital. Wednesday is for golf and lunch at the club.),

Yeah man, chicks like that set me off like a bottle rocket. (Rilly, Donna – I’m STUNNED…not) Entitlement and condescension waft around them like cheap perfume. They’re inordinately proud of their husband’s “position” (this sort have “positions” not jobs or gigs), terribly distressed if Muffy or Biff didn’t get into an Ivy and, Darling, NO one lives on the South Shore. Yeah, sorry/not sorry, my ocean view beats your sylvan Lincoln digs EVERY damn day.

I know, I know, there are, probably, not many of these monied twats left. I DO give it my all, my best, on meeting a woman who seems to fit this stereotype. BUT, I find myself waiting for them to fall into type – to put themselves in a position where I find it necessary to stick their perfect noses in their own pee.

e.g., "Put your mask back on NOW!”

Meanwhile, as I imagine you’ve guessed (given that I am ALSO the queen of Short Attention Span Kingdom) I spent a lot of time on Twitter whilst on MGH’s White4.

My new totally fave follows (who are totes worth checking out) are:
Mangy Jay @magi_jay
    PhD-ing. Linguistics, History, Cats. Way too willing to go down a rabbit hole. She/her

Lady Jaye @LadyJayPersists
    USN Veteran | Neither GOP nor Dem, I don’t do cults | Not here to find a man, I have one. Respect that or get blocked. | #BidenHarris2020

Trump Mumbler @TrumpMumbler
    USN veteran. I took an oath. Words are a tool. Sometimes they’re a weapon. I have a 1st Amendment right to use them. #BLM #BidenHarris2020 #WallOfVets

I didn't hit Dali this time. YEA ME!