tis so appalling it exhilarates.
a dead/dying mother/grandmother means that it’s the manchester radisson for me. and i google: ‘can i fake having a post op caregiver?’*
i wasn’t actually expecting to be cared for to any extent but i was (of course!) looking forward to companionship / that nice unalone feeling. but i am not going to be down or daunted by this. i look disappointment in the eyes and spit in its face. thus my decision to be extravagant about the hotel.** in for a penny, in for a pound.
* seems like: you can be completely honest as long as you sign stuff saying that you’re being medically unwise and they wash their hands of you.
** They—the hotel people—have such absolute respect for your privacy it’s uncanny. Of course when it’s time to settle up at the desk at the end, you pay for all that. It costs you fifty dollars instead of twenty. But don’t ever let anyone tell you it isn’t worth it. A person on the brink of a psychotic breakdown could be restored by a few days in an authentic first-class hotel, with its twenty-four-hor room service and shops, believe me. (.) (obviously the manchester radisson is not this! but it seems relatively undepressing.)