Dear diary,

Guess where’s my comfort chair. In front of the freaking private toilet. If Mom didn’t insist on a private room, I wouldn’t be hanging out for freaking twelve hours per day.

Y’all know what? She may have good health care insurance, but that does NOT guarantee good service. One CNA is tall but has a blank stare, expecting me to instruct her what to do next. WTF is wrong with SNF.

It’s NOT good and it’s NOT bad, but all is NOT great. With that said, how TF can y’all MAGA if there are a few nutballs on the other side of the broken fence?

I’m NOT happy! Y’all keep praying but it’s a double-edged sword. While the deal is supposed to pay off, I’m a slave to a priceless love only a ‘good daughter’ can give. Though the victim, err, patient has said that my hands are like stones, meaning bone breakers to the fragile elderly folk. But one doctor said that Mom has a bone density of a 30 year old. Huh.

I think the two types of antibiotics are knocking her system out. But she’s a fighter and won’t stop fighting with me. Do y’all understand that I’m NOT the most patient human? WTF?

Anyway, to uplift your brains, keep healthy, or else – y’all might pop a vein and end up in an SNF, the next best cruel fate to a correctional institution!


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