I'm in the hospital this week. No worries, just a touch of Penumonia that led to some tests that led to something else.
So here I am.
For a week.
That is not the bit of luck I'm talking about.
What is it about me that compels people to tell me things???
My roomate right now is a 50 something German local who speaks excellent english. We communicate well.
I learned over the course of one evening that she is from the local area all her life, she has two grown children, likes to go out dancing, does not love her husband, has a boyfriend in a city 2 hours away. What?!?
Wait, it does not end there.
Boyfriend is also married (he is a sweetheart from her school days), he has three daughters (she showed me pictures), and the youngest (16) is pregnant!
I suppose it gives her some relief to talk about it, since she knows I don't know them, will never meet them, and who would I talk about it to?? Well, other than the whole world on my blog, but who the hell reads this? I don't want to know this stuff, but I'm too polite to tell her to shut up. Plus, she translates for me, and got me apple juice when I had to drink that nasty stuff in preparation for my intestinal examination.
It is all very strange. I have spent my week catching up on my reading (3 books so far), and watching old seasons of CSI and House. She has spent it on the phone, IM-img, and sending notes to her sweetie. It's disconcerning, as she is old enough to be my mom, yet acts like my daughter.
Somewhat entertaining, and distracting, obviously nice, but strange.