I am glad to be home, where I can kick back and put one and a half feet on my table and relax. I went to the grocery store and got my freezer packed solid with orange boxes. You guys know what I’m talking about, those frozen dinners? Those are so good. A lot better than what they were trying to feed me at the hospital. I guess I’ll be pretty bored for a few weeks until my prosthetic foot comes in… I have to go get fitted for it tomorrow. Wish me the best of luck.

I was in there for fourteen days. That’s right, hospital for two full weeks. I was going crazy… There’s only so many times I can tolerate being visited by my family, though I do love my kids. The person who didn’t show up was, no surprise, Jeremy. He moved to Tennessee a while back, but was just in town. He asked me if he could use my apartment and I was like NO WAY! He is not able to be trusted. He’s fat and worthless and on drugs. See? These fourteen days have made me into an angry, spiteful man. Again, I love my kids.

The title is in response to the inevitale question. Am I out? The answer is no, in fact, they are taking my blood pressure as we speak. The good news is, I will be out of work for at least 3 months. The bad news is, in as little as 3 months, I could be back working. I am actually hoping that they fire me, so I can sue them. As a diabetes patient, I found the employer is supposed to offer you help. Never once been offered help. If they sue me, it’s on. I already have an attorney on speed dial.

I had this cute nurse last night… She asked me if I needed anything. Yeah, I know. I wanted to so bad, but I thought it’d be a bad idea to mess with a woman in control of my drugs. She’s bound to put a bag of sodium penathol up on my pole, giving me a lethal drip. Speaking of drips, my daughter Jessica came by with her boyfriend Robby. He’s a good kid, but he won’t ever get a real job because he can never pass that drug test, if you know what I mean… Anyway, they got me a milkshake… Nothing much more to say but I’m in room 237 and visiting hours are 8-8.

That’s right, I’m still in the hospital. I have begin to lose track of time, seriously. All they ever ask me in here is ‘Are you in pain?’ They can’t believe I have that enormous chunk of foot missing and I don’t feel a thing, but I don’t Don’t need any pain killers, thank you. My nephew and his girlfriend have been coming by a lot. I showed her the underwear my mom got me… She got me the ones with the button. How ignorant, right? He’s always eating my hospital food and trying to steal my IV’s. It’s just saline! Moron.