Getting to write on a blog? This is exactly what I went to college for! Oh man, April was right, I'm getting a rush just by typing out these words. I feel like part of such a community.
Or maybe this rush is nausea because I'm writing in a moving car and motion sickness is an old enemy of mine. Either way I'd like to end this as soon as possible.
If this wasn't clear, this is Slicer. The doctor turned proxy turned hostage turned partner turned hopefully doctor again. If that wasn't clear to anyone, that process STARTED WITH BEING A DOCTOR. I had been a doctor for like three years, Picasso. And I would still be one if I had gotten any say in the matter. But noooo. So yeah, already a doctor, hoping to get back to practicing, even if just for the cell.
Knowing these guys they could do with having someone to patch them up. Tourniquet often needs more than just patching up from the things she does to herself, let alone going out on missions. And honestly most of them could use a psychiatrist too. Bishop's dealing with some serious trauma I assume since the kid doesn't freaking talk and she should probably have someone to help her with that. Plus I already mentioned Tourniquet who's a complete basket case. Having a homebody to just make her eat should improve the crazy chick's blood flow.
Seriously, I worry about these people. They cannot take care of themselves. Wal-Mart sells all kinds of fruits and vegetables and vitamin supplements but every time I see the cell they're stuffing their faces with the cheapest microwave meals and sugary snacks. Being a proxy seems more dangerous to cholesterol at this point. At least they get exercise.
Well, I'm getting off topic. As we have told you like three times now, Picasso and Navi and April and some of their buddies who I haven't met are coming back with Tracker and I to our cell. A "Fallen" cell, I think they've been calling it which is kind of rude, don't you think? I mean, we're still here and running. We're in the car now and somehow I'm the one who got stuck in the middle in the back. On the frickin' hump seat. AND I got passed the computer and told I had to update this stupid blog I've seen the girls posting on as if it matters.
Cause let me tell you, nebulous internet existence, I feel pretty stupid doing this. I hope that this thing doesn't become like, a regular exercise back at the Mart. There are so many better things I could be doing.
So I guess it's my duty to tell you that everyone's alive. They are. Very alive. I could not ever mistake them for dead considering how loudly they are singing along to some painfully cheery music I don't recognize on the radio with all the windows rolled down so the wind is getting my goddamn hair in my eyes and I can't hear myself think.
Okay, maybe this blog thing is a bit cathartic. Maybe I should write a poem about punching Picasso in the face. That should make me feel better.