I wish I could say I was currently listening to Big Pimpin'. But I'm not.

No, instead, I am listening to Blues Traveler. I am still in the hospital, and I still have no definite idea of when they will be sending me home. But I am trying, as my nurse advised, to "think happy kidney cell thoughts." Come on, happy kidney cells! Do your regeneration thing! That's about it though. I feel better than I have the past few days. My back is becoming less painful, albeit slowly. But I haven't had any Tylenol in 24 hours, so progress is being made. Now I'm just waiting for these stupid chemo levels to go down.

In other news, I had another run-in today with someone who wasn't born in this country. And by run-in, I mean delightful encounter. A man stopped by my room this morning, a man with thick, wavy brown hair, a quirky little smile, and what I think was a Spanish accent. He said to me, "Caroline?" I looked up from my book at this strange man who knew my name and answered, "Yeah..." He then said to me (again, in his accent with slightly rolled r's), "Would you like to paint?" This man, this vision from another country, was offering me paints! I guess someone comes around to the cancer folk every once in a while with painting supplies. Occupational therapy, if you will. Anyway, needless to say, I accepted his offer to art. And art I did. He brought me acrylic paints in hot pink, neon green, sort of puke yellow, sky blue, and there was a purple in there as well. I commented that, "Wow, these are really bright," and he offered to bring me some more muted colors to mix. So he returned with white, black, a peach, and a color he called "ochre; all the famous paintings have it as their base." He also brought me another brush, in addition to the second-grade plastic-bristled one he had brought initially. Oh, and an orange colored pencil. And then his mysterious, arty, and foreign self left, never to be seen again. But I still have his day-glo orange pencil, although I did throw out the acrylic paints. The smell was starting to make me feel a little fuzzy. I also have the god-awful painting I drew. But it made me happy and was a nice distraction for a little while. So that was my day. Who knows what will happen tomorrow. Maybe a French man will come and bring me runny cheeses and wine. Oh God, that would be fantastic. If slightly fanciful. Otherwise, I'm off to dream of mysterious, dark, and accented men presenting me with Monets and glasses of Bordeaux-region reds. Splendid.