AKA, groggy, percocet-fueled ramblings on what I did for Labor Day weekend.


So on Thursday, I went to the doctor for some severe back pain. They ran some tests, got that concerned look on their faces, prodded at my back and tummy, then pumped me full of dilaudid and sent me up to have my innards looked at with the ultrasound.

An hour or two later, they admitted me for surgery.

I was groggy, and confused, and in pain, and had a million thoughts running through my head. One of which was, who's gonna tell my fake pixel friends? I had my cell phone, but it's a dinosaur--can only text, and barely that. I've never been dissatisfied with it, 'cos I've never needed more than a plain phone that can just make and receive calls.

I texted a friend and went into surgery (they removed my gallbladder, which I didn't even know was unhappy with me, but the surgeon said was 'as hot as she's ever seen without bursting').

I came home then next evening and did what any modern girl would do, I checked my email. I had messages and private plurks and offline IMs up the wazoo.

And the next day, I received flowers. Two real arrangements from two pixel friends. I am right now looking at huge sunflowers from a pixel friend I never ever thought to cross such a line with. Real, tangible flowers from a real, physical person behind the pixels.

bright

It's overwhelming. Still.

People who know me online know that I guard my privacy religiously. I don't like sharing more than is minimally necessary.

But this... these few moments of real lives touching... it's incredibly moving.


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