It's not like I can continue walking down the hall towards what I assume is an intense and awkward conversation between McSexy and SilverFox--a conversation fueled by smokescreens, soul mate addictions and mirrors. And goggles. And knives. And closet adultery. Okay--well--technically I can walk towards it. But once I get within the impolite, yet juicy'licious, eavesdropping range--I'll have to continue walking to my examination room. That simply can't happen. I'm an N to the Forth Power (Nosey Neighbors Need News). I HAVE to find out what happens when the knife in McSexy's back gets returned to its original owner. But first--

"Gotta pee." Why didn't I just pee in front of PamPam? I signal to Bubbles at the end of the hall by holding the 'hang loose' hand sign up to my cootch like a cell phone. I'm trying to communicate to her I have a call on the urethra line from Mother Nature. She appears confused by my creative sign language attempt.

I rush back to the ladies' restroom to finish my business call with Mother Nature. As I enter, I notice PamPam at the sink washing sudsy hands in a never-ending stream of automated faucet water. Kiss my ass, PamPam--and sink--and, and--motion sensor soap shooter thing!

I slip into a stall before the respiratory specialist has time to register my identity, then shimmy the grannies to my knees. Dropping my cheeks on the porcelain throne, I pee like I've never peed before. I'm hoping to catch at least the end of the stethoscope studs' battle in Seattle, so like a Top Gun--I feel the need for speed! When my business with Mother Nature is finalized, I use an insane amount of toilet paper to make sure the yellow ink record of our meeting stays on paper instead of my fingers. Let's just say I'm apprehensive to trust the sinks with the disposal of evidence from this quick urine and you're out meeting.

Before I know it, I'm back in the hall at the infamous corner. The question now is--How do I stealth ninja my way to Bubbles?

I stare at the nurses' station counter--the one Bubble's is sitting at. If I can somehow get under the counter, I rationalize, I'll be within earshot AND out of sight. Well, assuming McSexy and SilverFox are having their discussion somewhere near Bubbles's perch.

I wait for inspiration to flood my thoughts and give me the fool-proof plan I need to slither into position undetected.

White noise.

I hear white noise.

White noise and a bleep.

More white noise.

"Uh," I whisper in frustration. What are you doing? This is insane. Grow up and go back to your room. NOW! You're not a super-ninja-action hero. They don't need you. Bubbles and McSexy don't need you. You're a patient--nothing more than a train wreck with hives on her bathing suit parts.

These thoughts produce a wave of heaviness throughout my body--loneliness and loss crashing upon my low self-esteem shores. Emptiness. Cruelness. The big, fat pig who lounges on front porches listening to distant Bobby Brown tunes and talking to spiders. The punchline of jokes. I'm a reflection of my worst possible self. Someone so desperate to find a purpose in this life, she'll run around an Urgent Care in a hospital gown pretending to be John McClane on a die-hard mission to stop an evil doctor.

Impossible, I think to myself as I stare at the space beneath the nurses' counter. You can't get there. You shouldn't get there. It's a sign. You're not needed. Go back to your room before you look like an even bigger fool.

In one form or another, this is the looping dialog of my life's script--a cycle that seems to have no beginning or end. You're worthless. You're worthless, but you don't have to be. You can become your best self. You're important. Just kidding, you're not important. You can't have the life you want because it's impossible. You're worthless. Rewind. Play. Repeat. It's like Soundgarden's Black Hole Sun--a constant battle between the brightest warmth of hope and the darkest void of nothingness.

White noise.

White noise and another bleep.

More white noise.

For whatever reason, I suddenly become fully conscious of the subtle sounds of bleeping and an echo of a whisper--a whisper from her in the deep depths of my subconscious. "I gave you my crown, Love," the Queen reminds me. "Trust the unknown, and you'll find your way."

"What does that even mean?" I mutter through gritted teeth while restraining the onset of frustrated tears.

Nevermind, I whisper from within. Doesn't matter. I probably wouldn't get it, anyway. With a defeated sigh, I withdraw from my inner fight and rest my forehead against the wall. Silence. Nothingness. Surrender. It's here in a space absent of thoughts where I'm able to hear it more clearly--the bleeps. Clarity. Truth hidden in unknown white noise. In fact, I can feel it. I feel a force. A strange and unknown force awakens inside me.

I glance over my shoulder and spot a hospital robot moving in my direction. Well--technically it looks more like a remote-control storage cabinet. I read about these things one evening after falling into a black hole of clickbait. Apparently, these medical droids carry things like medications and linens to destinations throughout hospitals, saving staff time. R2-D2? Are you why my Claritin took so long?

After the initial shock of seeing a hospital droid subsides, my eyes light up and a smile expands across the width of my face. R2! That's it! You're my stealth ninja!

Everyone knows R2-D2 saves the day in Star Wars films, so this was a no brainer. All I had to do was crouch behind the moving box until I was safely nestled beneath Bubbles' feet. It was a brilliant plan! An unforeseen possibility. An opportunity challenging my perceptions of impossibility. So, with a leap of faith--I do it. I sneak down the hall like a hunchback, using R2-D2 as my defensive lineman.

I giggle. My mini me. R2 is the Mini Refrigerator.

Bubbles turns in her swivel chair and freezes. I suppose a patient creeping down the hallway behind a cabinet droid isn't something she sees every day. Slapping her hand against the counter to balance her wobbling body, she mouths, "What the hell are you doing?"

I'm concentrating way too hard to respond to her. Coordination is a quality I'm not known for, so I focus all my attention on keeping my face off the floor. And just when my knees and lower back can't take any more pain from waddling the length of the hall in a contorted position, I'm throwing myself at Bubbles' feet.

Okay. Now I'm sort of embarrassed by my behavior. It takes me a second to collect myself before I'm brave enough to look at Bubble's reaction. With a deep breath, I simultaneously lift my head and say, "Let me explain."

Bubbles just grins and says:

"I was married to an Ex-Bot," I whisper. "I have experience being invisible in the presence of robots. So--what did I miss?"

"He's consulting with the Doc about a patient, but it's coming. I can feel it."

"Do you think--"

"Shhh!" Bubbles interrupts, waving an open palm in my face. "I just heard Pam's name. Stop talking."

*****McSEXY BREAK*****

Eeek! We're nearing the end. Can't wait to reveal the next chapter!

MUSIC: Soundgarden. Black Hole Sun. I couldn't have a story based in Seattle without mentioning Soundgarden, Nirvana, Pearl Jam or Alice in Chains. With the passing of Chris Cornell this week, this was the destined chapter in which to show my respects for grunge's greats. RIP, Chris.

Your vote is truly McAppreciated. Muah!

MarilynHepburn.com