The Slinky Patient (is a difficult patient)

I'm BORED.

Boredboredboredboredboredboredbored.

I can't sleep when I'm tired, I can't run round, I've gone through half the books already on my illicit book run, and the only excitement I get is being woken up at 8 am in the morning every morning for the daily giving of Slinky blood, which is decreasing every day. Today the needle was three times bigger than usual, which caused me to go "WTF?" and try and run away, but then my dad had already wrapped the pressure band around my upper arm and it was too late. "Hmmm, your vein disappeared," he told me, after some fruitless poking around in my left arm. "WHAT?" screamed an outraged Slinky.

"Oh well, we'll just have to do your right arm again."

I'm technically not allowed visitors because my immune system is shot clean to hell, but if you're not carrying any funky bugs, and even better, if you can do any stupid human tricks which could potentially entertain a bored-out-of-her-skull Slinky, please for the love of god visit on the weekdays between 2-4:30 and 7-9:30. And all day on the weekends. The Nazi doctor that is my dad will either be working or playing golf. Call if in doubt.

And don't be alarmed if I'm wearing floor-length swishy gypsy skirts and shit. I'm not allowed to wear my usual butt-skimming shorts - full coverage is the mandate - and I only have two pairs of trackies, so needs must. Least I look GLAM and sick.

PS: I AM NOT CONTAGIOUS (I thought that last note was important)