It seems that I have a natural knack for being in a hospital. Though I absolutely did not plan spending any moment on Christmas in an Emergency Room, I had the unfortunate luck of being in that exact place. Or should I say Liz, my girlfriend, had the unfortunate luck this time.

It is Christmas time, which means Christmas music. Do I enjoy it? Not particularly, no. Do I tolerate it? I try, I really do. The only song I have a weird fondness of is Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’ and that is only because I had a huge crush on George Michael; until I found out he was gay, as was I and my girlfriend still makes fun of me for it.

I do not particularly like being in a hospital; the last time I was in one, they pretty much ignored me an hour while I slowly bled out from a gash on my forehead (which was strategically placed on my eyebrow). I had received the gash from a fight; a girl hit me for no good reason and I hit her back with reason, which led her to grab a brick and hurl it at my head, hitting me right on the eye.