“I hope I'm not shooting myself in the leg by agreeing with you, Diana!” I pouted, running my fingers through my bed, and smoothing out the creases in the bedspread.
In my mad dash out the door this morning—well, to storm Dr. Ferris office before he heads out—I had completely forgotten to make my bed.
Okay, you caught me there. I was never the one arranging the bed in the first place. In fact, I had never arranged my bed since I woke up from coma.
It was usually the nurse, or possibly Keira. They were the people that I had seen, helping to make my bed.
Since I’m stuck here now, why not take matters into my own hands?
Nothing was wrong with my hands, and I sure can arrange my own bed.
So I swung into action, anything to get me busy, and take my mind out of my prisoner situation.
