[img]: Theatrical poster for Rotterdam English Speaking Theatre featuring a triptych of moody scenes

Daddy Cross, my friend and coworker with the best nickname in the world, is usually a very bold woman. The kind of power house I imagine Julia Louis-Dreyfus to be. Speaks truth to power in a voice that can do all sorts of things. Best physical comedy I’ve ever seen in a person. But I shouldn’t be surprised, because she’s a total theater kid. Last week, as I hobbled my way past her desk, she asked, in a squeaky voice: “Are you busy, like, in general?”

I’m never busy. I learned early on in University that answering the question “How are you?” with “Oh my, I’m so busy” was both boring and unproductive. I always reserve space for emergency design work, on-the-fly meetings, and time-sensitive requests. But Daddy Cross’ question wasn’t about work.

I made it home after seven nights at the hospital! Staying there between Christmas and New Year’s really wasn’t as horrible as you’d imagine. I figured: if anything happens, I’m already at the hospital, anyway.

Still, I should confess that I was excited to be released from the presence of my hospital neighbor, a dentureless elderly woman with severe bowel problems whose sounds were revolting. If you’re wondering how petty I am for focusing on that instead of my own fracture-related infection, imagine what Anja’s life is like.