the weird

He knows the drugs are messing with him.

All told he's been under hard anesthesia for 10 of the past 70 hours. Throw in a pain pump and epidural and well, we can't blame him for falling asleep midsentence.

Our conversations last about five seconds, are mostly one sided, and go like this:
"I love you."
"Are you still here?"
"I would talk to you more, but my thoughts are too long and you are too slow."
"I know I'm making no sense."
"Hey are you ready? Let's leave."
"Can I eat? I can? Ok, I want pasta, some pears and a big big BIG cup of - get me the f#*! out of here."

But even though I am "slow", Rico still has his moments of brilliance:

"You know how people hire like Batman and princesses for kids parties? I was thinking that some kids aren't into that stuff, some kids are into business."

"They are? You know kids like that?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna have a meeting with this guy and we're gonna start a company and I'm gonna go to parties as 'Business Man!'"

"Wow that's a pretty narrow niche market."

"No, lots of kids like business more than superheroes. And we probably won't hire out on Sundays."

"Good idea."

I'm not sure this crazy room helps.

The bed is one of those big-old traction beds with a full frame and a trapeze hanging from one end. There's always something beeping. The building outside his window is made of mirrors, so you're never really sure where the sun is. The toilet looks like this:

It feels like this:

Oh, and if you're like me and always try to flush hospital toilets with your knee or foot, you have to do this:

Even through his psychedelic journey, he knows you guys are here. Between sleeps he says, "You are a very lucky person. We are very lucky. Because so many people love us. We are so lucky."

He is right. The only thing that would make us luckier is if one of you could throw your third grader a "tax audit birthday party" next Saturday - we know a guy . . .