Entering my fourth and final week of rehab

(Not that kind)

Like most summers, Love Island is the thing that anchors me to my couch every evening, except this year it’s to a hospital bed. The producers have done an excellent job this year in recruiting batshit normies as their islanders, instead of posed and ready influencers. The fights and the backhandedness of it all feels relatable, even if most of the Deep Meaningful Conversations are happening in heels and a bikini.

In a way, I am my own kind of islander this summer, checking in to the National Rehabilitation Hospital for what was an unknown amount of time. Thankfully, my time is up this coming Friday, and it has been a real education. I wish I could say that I’ve loved every second in the villa NRH, but I can say that I will be coming out as a different person.