I was sooooo exhausted from work and my body couldn’t wait for the Holy Week holidays to start. Right after we did our grocery shopping last night I just dropped dead on my bed like this:

That must be around 8:30 pm.

My Sushi loves me 😁❤️ and joined me in my weariness.

When I woke up at 5 am, she was still with me.

Not the Doctor

When this song by Alanis Morisette came out in 1997, I didn’t really understand the real meaning of this. Still I kept on singing this one because it was catchy. Twenty-six years after, I now fully embrace what it’s all about—co-dependence. Now singing this brings a different kind of sting that makes my heart bleed.

I don’t want to be the filler if the void is solely yours
I don’t want to be your glass of single malt whiskey
Hidden in the bottom drawer and
I don’t want to be a bandage if the wound is not mine
Lend me some fresh air
I don’t want to be adored for what I merely represent to you
I don’t want to be your babysitter
You’re a very big boy now
I don’t want to be your mother
I didn’t carry you in my womb for nine months
Show me the back door

Visiting hours are nine to five and if I show up at ten past six
Well, I already know that you’d find some way to sneak me in and oh
Mind the empty bottle with the holes along the bottom
You see it’s too much to ask for and I am not the doctor

I don’t want to be the sweeper of the egg shells that you walk upon
And I don’t want to be your other half, I believe that one and one make two
I don’t want to be your food or the light from the fridge on your face
At midnight, hey
What are you hungry for?
I don’t want to be the glue that holds your pieces together
I don’t want to be your idol
See this pedestal is high and I’m afraid of heights
I don’t want to be lived through
A vicarious occasion
Please open the window

Visiting hours are nine to five and if I show up at ten past six
Well, I already know that you’d find some way to sneak me in and oh
Mind the empty bottle with the holes along the bottom
You see it’s too much to ask for and I am not the doctor

I don’t want to live on someday when my motto is last week
And I, I don’t want to be responsible for your fractured heart
And it’s wounded beat and
I don’t want to be a substitute for the smoke you’ve been inhaling
Well, what do you thank me
What do you thank me for?

Visiting hours are nine to five and if I show up at ten past six
Well, I already know that you’d find some way to sneak me in and oh
Mind the empty bottle with the holes along the bottom
You see it’s too much to ask for and I am not the doctor