Sleep-blogging.

True life: I do the weirdest crap in my sleep.

I answer phone calls. I send rude texts to people I hardly talk to. I talk. I walk.

It's embarrassing.

So last night I must have subliminally had a huge epiphany about my next blog post, because I woke up to a scrap piece of paper on my side table with this written on it in sloppy handwriting:

"New blog idea: Tell them about my fever and stuff."

Obviously this is important.

Who knew I was so subconsicously stressed about my blog?

And so readers, I've got something to tell you.

I gotta fever...

and the only prescription...

Okay. Okay. I'll stop quoting it.

But if you don't know what I'm referring to, take the first steps towards embracing your new, unsheltered life and click here.

(Sorry its a cheap pirated version. I couldn't find the real thing. Something about "copyrights" or some bogus like that.)

Moving on to the "and stuff" part of my dream note:

I am back (for the third summer in a row) working at Ted Warthen Center for Assited Living and Continuum of Care. Sounds fun eh?

It is.

I work with 12 residents, 9 of whom are on hospice, 12 of whom are freaking hilarious.

Here are some funny stories and residents from over the years:

Pauline: For the entire two years I knew Pauline I rarely saw her anywhere but in her chair right next to the large glass back doors. She weighed about 85 lbs and shaved her head so she always looked like the teeniest little thing. One day I was in a room helping someone when I heard screaming in the hallway. I ran out to find that one of St. George's infamously short and sudden rainstorms had hit and rain was pelting the glassdoors. Pauline was booking it as fast as her walker would take her down the hallway screaming "GOD HATES US! GOD IS PUNISHING US!" It was five minutes before I could stop laughing enough to calm her down.

Carolyne: Carolyne was the first resident I grew incredibly close to. She was goofy as all get out and part of her charm came from the fact that a stroke had left her without control of the left side of her body, and her quirky mind decided that the only way to explain the presence of her left hand was to make it her pet, named "Billy." I "fed" Billy with every meal by placing a small napkin with some broken pieces of bread on her leg, which Billy would then "eat" (knock off onto the ground) over the course of the meal. Billy had tricks that included "kisses," which consisted of her pushing all her fingers together and then kissing her own hand that she didn't know was her own hand. I once walked into the TV room to find Carolyn sobbing hysterically. I asked her what was wrong and she replied "I...(sniff)...can't...find...(sniff)...Biiillllyyyy," at which point I reached down, grabbed her left hand and showed it to her. The tears instantly stopped and she graciously exclaimed "Oh! Billy! There you are! Where do you keep running off to??" She was the funniest and spunkiest woman I have ever met.

Gladys: Gladys was 95 years old and suffered from severe dimensia, meaning she was pretty out of it most of the time and never failed at cracking me up. She was such a sweetheart but so stubborn and I could never get her to do anything unless I distracted her by asking her to sing "You Are My Sunshine." One day I was helping her get into her clothes for the day and she was fighting me on it. "Gladys," I said in frustration, "do you want to walk around naked all day??" "Well I wasn't born that way!!" she yelled back. "You were born with clothes on?!" I exclaimed. "Yep!" she replied, and then yelled at the top of her lungs, "IT WAS A MIRACLE!!"

Working as much as I do just wouldn't be possible without these kinds of moments.

All in all I have the best job in the world.

and apparently a fever.

and stuff.

Katie

(Gladys and Me)