Shower Struggles and the Chopstick Dash
I pulled the hat low over my head, stripped off my clothes, and stepped into the bathroom. Taking off my underwear made me feel like some kind of criminal, but when I stood naked in front of the mirror, that feeling only intensified. At least with this height, I might pass for someone a bit older. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Come to think of it, my hair had grown quite a bit in just a few days. The strands already reaching my waist felt so uncomfortable. I wanted to head straight to a salon and chop it all off, but since I'd been told to avoid going out for the time being, I'd have to leave it alone for now.
Fortunately, the bathroom was stocked with towels, a washcloth, shampoo, and soap. None of it was mine, of course. The shampoo was labeled kids. Now that I thought about it, they'd said to avoid anything too harsh even when washing up. I sighed and turned on the water.
Washing my hair took way longer than I'd expected. This must be why women's baths drag on forever. Next time I get it cut, I'm hacking it all off. I didn't want to spend this much time showering every day. Still, the warm water felt good. I clumsily scrubbed my whole body and rinsed off. Even washing myself felt awkward. I'd get used to it eventually. But I didn't want to. The more familiar I got, the more of myself I'd lose.
I toweled off and stepped out. Flicking on the hair dryer, I started drying my hair. If washing took forever, drying would take even longer. I was right. It barely dried at all. In the end, I plopped down and kept at it. It felt like at least twenty minutes before it was fully dry.
Only then did I realize something crucial. I had nothing clean to change into. No underwear either. Ham Ye-jin had really only bought one outfit—a complete set, top and bottom, underwear included. No helping it. Letting out yet another sigh—I'd lost count—I put my old clothes back on. They felt a little grimy after being taken off once, but since I'd only worn them since morning, hygiene-wise it should be fine.
Once I was clean, my stomach started rumbling. I'd eaten breakfast at the hospital, but lunch was still pending. Opening the fridge, I found only porridge and water. They'd said to stick to porridge for a while, but after more than two weeks of alternating between bland hospital slop and this stuff, I was done. Naturally, I fired up a delivery app and scrolled for something decent. Nothing really appealed. Oh, right—I'd need to update the registered address. I dug it out from the papers Ham Ye-jin had left behind.
I was pretty surprised. It was incredibly close to Kang Hwa-won's place. A short walk away, the kind where we could bump into each other on the street. Not that it mattered right now. I wouldn't be seeing anyone for a bit. I changed the address and browsed for food, finally settling on jjajangmyeon.
But when I tried to order just one bowl, it didn't meet the minimum. Tricky. Ever since this body, my appetite had halved. One bowl was pushing it; anything more would definitely leave leftovers. No choice—I'd save the extra for dinner and place the order. Jjajangmyeon and fried rice, one each. The fried rice could go in the fridge.
I hit order and zoned out waiting for delivery. My old place never had a TV, and this one didn't either. fiddling with my smartphone, I felt the itch to ego-search again, but I resisted. I'd be holing up here for a good while. Looking around, it still didn't feel like home. The bedroom had a computer set up, but everything else was boxed up, waiting to be unpacked. I'd have to sort all this. The NIS aftercare was a total mess.
Mid-unpacking, the delivery arrived. Back in the day, I'd open the door and pay in person, but now I could pay via phone and have them leave it at the door. I could live perfectly well without facing another soul. I stashed the fried rice in the fridge and went for the jjajangmyeon—only to hit a major snag. No chopsticks.
Checking the app, I saw I'd habitually unchecked the disposable utensils option. Awkward. I couldn't call the driver back now. A normal house would have kitchenware, but this was a brand-new place. They'd said they'd moved over essentials from the old one, but somehow key things were missing. If you haven't guessed already, there were no chopsticks. No spoons either. No utensils at all. Seriously, shouldn't they stock basics? There was a pot, frying pan, rice cooker—everything but damn utensils. How was I supposed to eat the porridge?
Online shopping could fix it eventually, but not instantly, and I needed them now. I couldn't scoop jjajangmyeon by hand. That left going out to buy some, but the no-outings warning flashed in my mind. Eat with my hands and ditch human dignity, or risk it outside for utensils? The answer was obvious. I tugged the hat back on and headed out.
Outside, I pulled up a map app and searched nearby. The closest convenience store wasn't far. Buy utensils and bolt back. It shouldn't take long. I yanked the hat low and started walking. Soon, I spotted the flaw in my plan. My stride. Compared to before, my stamina and steps were drastically shorter. The store that seemed close stayed distant no matter how far I went. The heat wasn't helping; I was already tiring.
Damn. This body was too weak. As I walked, I passed elementary kids heading home from school. Was there a school nearby? They looked full of energy, unlike me. And seeing some the same height as me was seriously irritating. Pushing past them toward the store, I got the feeling someone was staring. Looking up, it wasn't my imagination. A few kids were eyeing me.
Why? Mystery solved quick. The hat. It was big enough for an adult, wide-brimmed—novel to kids' eyes. None approached, thank god, but you never know. Dodging them, I broke into a run, clutching the hat so it wouldn't fly off. Probably looked ridiculous. Finally, the convenience store.
It was in a busy area, but luckily not crowded this time of day. Not that far, but I was gasping. Panting inside, I beelined for disposable utensils. Grabbing them let me catch my breath. Just head home now. But being here sparked greed. I might not come out much—might as well grab extras? I shook my head. Nah, delivery for that. What was the point of convenience store junk? I snagged a few cup ramens anyway and checked out.
I craved booze and smokes, but without ID in this form, no chance—and the hospital said avoid. So I held back. Setting down the cup ramen and utensils, the clerk rang me up quick.
"Bag?"
"Yes."
Hearing my voice, I felt the clerk staring. Hair sticking out from the hat maybe? Tense, I bolted once paid. The walk back was rougher. I'd wandered tense and distracted, taking a wrong turn. Map app fixed it, but it took longer than outbound. Under thirty minutes total, but I was wiped physically and mentally. Punching in the code—1224—I got inside and collapsed on the sofa.
Long sigh. Short rest. Wiped sweat, then sat at the table. The jjajangmyeon was delicious. Especially after two weeks without real food—it hit deep. But halfway through, my chopsticks slowed. Too greasy. Bigger portion than expected. Finishing seemed impossible. Was this why they pushed porridge? Left about a third, stomach churning. Anyway, meal done, I returned to unpacking.
Finished around dinner time. Thought about the fried rice, but digestion from lunch wasn't settled, so skipped. Now what? Nothing much. Phone scrolling, basically. I hadn't told other contacts about discharge yet. I texted Kang Hwa-won and Seo Jae-a separately. Should ping the editor too, but I wasn't ready for work talk.