A Poem: Questions

O person who took my blood for testing,
You asked me questions about Xmas ,
So I wouldn’t notice the blood,
Chatty, Chatty, blood, Chatty.

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U R A magical poet…hands up…!!!

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I used to hate when people asked me questions about Christmas. I didn’t understand what the big deal was. About the holidays. Now it’s whatever. Well I still don’t completely. I don’t HATE the holidays, but they are the worst days of the year practically. Just because there’s so much hype but they’re really like any other day!! Never live up to their bill. So I have a resentment for them. They’re not too bad though.

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It’s a good thing to do in that situation. Pleasant conversations can also help to get your mind off of pain, and occasionally get your mind off the voices for a while. The problem is that no one can talk forever.

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I always cringe when I see a needle because of the pinch. I really don’t like going to the hospital, for anything.

that reminds me that I got to write a Christmas poem. we should collaborate. I need a good rhymer.

I’ll pay you in food stamp money. :slight_smile:

workers are literally robots, sometimes. :expressionless:

at least they get paid $ though.

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When I got my blood taken before the nurse asked me if i like motorcycles because there was a picture of one on my shirt and I said “no, I just like this shirt.” Then a minute or two later she said, “So you’re a motorcycle fan, right?”

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