I was hospitalized for several days recently, and the experience was exactly like an alien abduction-themed horror movie. Don’t look at me like I’m crazy for saying that, the way my husband did. It really, really was!
It’s true that I entered the facility of my own free will (and was not plucked off the surface of the planet via tractor beam), albeit under duress due to a weakened state. But after that, things spiraled completely out of my control, and I was a specimen in my captors’ hands.
The next thing I knew, I was lying in a darkened room, tethered to beeping, whirring machines, and clad in an absurd smock that was apparently designed to expose the wearer’s ass unless awkwardly held closed with both hands. What in the wide world of FUCK?
And if I managed to lapse into sleep despite the terrors of my captivity, masked creatures would swoop into my cubicle to stab me with needles and/or bundle me off for scans or probes. It was horrifying. HORRIFYING! I don’t want to talk about it.
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I read the NYT pretty much cover to cover every day during my…sabbatical. I know, the NYT, but the app was right there on my phone, and there was no streaming TV on the alien vessel, only cable. I could only watch so many back-to-back episodes of “Guy’s Grocery Games” on Food Network without completely losing my mind. Feh!
Anyhoo, the fucking NYT and its abysmal opinion page — I was immersed in it, which is worse than infinite grocery games, to be honest. Weirdly, Friedman is making more sense than he has in two decades or so? That was surprising.