The bandages make it hard to type
Living on my own is great, but I'm beginning to miss the "perks" of sharing an apartment with my sister. I guess it's true what they say: You never really know what you have until D. takes it away from you.
Not that D. really took anything away from me, inheritance excluded. After all, I've pined for my own place for many years; I should be happy to have finally been granted my wish! But sometimes, living on your own can get you into all sorts of trouble, as I learned all too well yesterday evening.
It was 6 p.m., and I had already grown tired of gathering paint chips and hanging my framed portraits of Pope John Paul II. (I have quite a collection!) Anyway, sitting around the Manor with nothing to do is like waiting for water to boil or for a gargoyle to grow out of the brick exterior, so I headed downstairs in search of distractions.
My first (and, ultimately, only) stop: the lobby. Now, the lobby is no longer the bustling hub of Manor life that it once was nearly 100 years ago. In fact, it's quiet and rather soulless these days, especially when D.'s office hours are in effect and the tenants dare not wish to disturb her. But on this certain occassion, I found myself totally alone, left with only the tenants' mail and the voices in my head to entertain me.
I don't really remember what happened when I entered the mail room (or "the grab bag", as D. calls it). But when I came to, my sister's security guard was pinning me to the ground, and I could hear D. screaming in the background. There was blood all over my hands, and, as D. later explained to me, I had apparently tried to slit my wrists after smashing my head against the glass pane that separates the mail room from the lobby. There was glass everywhere and I was cut up pretty badly - it's a miracle I'm alive!
Anyway, I'm back from Sibley Hospital, for the time being. Oh well. At least I got a helicopter ride out of it!
Not that D. really took anything away from me, inheritance excluded. After all, I've pined for my own place for many years; I should be happy to have finally been granted my wish! But sometimes, living on your own can get you into all sorts of trouble, as I learned all too well yesterday evening.
It was 6 p.m., and I had already grown tired of gathering paint chips and hanging my framed portraits of Pope John Paul II. (I have quite a collection!) Anyway, sitting around the Manor with nothing to do is like waiting for water to boil or for a gargoyle to grow out of the brick exterior, so I headed downstairs in search of distractions.
My first (and, ultimately, only) stop: the lobby. Now, the lobby is no longer the bustling hub of Manor life that it once was nearly 100 years ago. In fact, it's quiet and rather soulless these days, especially when D.'s office hours are in effect and the tenants dare not wish to disturb her. But on this certain occassion, I found myself totally alone, left with only the tenants' mail and the voices in my head to entertain me.
I don't really remember what happened when I entered the mail room (or "the grab bag", as D. calls it). But when I came to, my sister's security guard was pinning me to the ground, and I could hear D. screaming in the background. There was blood all over my hands, and, as D. later explained to me, I had apparently tried to slit my wrists after smashing my head against the glass pane that separates the mail room from the lobby. There was glass everywhere and I was cut up pretty badly - it's a miracle I'm alive!
Anyway, I'm back from Sibley Hospital, for the time being. Oh well. At least I got a helicopter ride out of it!
posted by Landlady Bing @ 8:31 AM
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