home hospital residence

If you adjust the contrast, you can make it all disappear. Art doesn’t save lives, it just changes them. The saving part just depends on where we let our perspective take us…

During the past two weeks, I have laid my head on several different pillows…each not quite restful…one was musty, another plastic, one smelling like low-level cologne of renaissance wistfulness.


(I have used that word a lot lately. I heard, on some passing by t.v. blip, that “the problems with American are we are ‘too wistful.’) It makes perfect sense though, a nation of nostalgic seekers and wounded homeless taken far away from the cherished dirt under their nails…

Of course we are wistful…what else would we be?

We weep more easily than we like to admit. And then the doors lock as our loved ones leave, back into the air, back onto the roads…heading home with our laps piled high absentee limbs and all those old baby pictures and flag covered coffins…

Maybe we all just need to have a good long cry.

Even when the police came to take me to the hospital…called by the power of my father by proxy of the magistrate…”Um, yes, ma’am?”

“Sheesh…really? Well, can I have a cigarette first?”

I knew it was likely to happen…I was on heavy lock down in all my dark corners and the youngest officer had the kindest brown eyes…I couldn’t bear the thought of him thinking he was scaring me. I was all jokes about the three cars and the pat down, but the handcuffs hurt.

It’s all just policy and procedure, isn’t it? Yup.

I kept up my writing and crochet and drawing the best I could with the constraints inherent in full hospitalization. Tried to simultaneously think about the kids and not think about the kids. It hurts to think of their faces, their voices…the promises I could keep after all. “I promise I will fix it, okay? I will, it will just take some time. I promise.”

I am still trying to work it all out. Each and every day. I need to find a job. I had to return some groceries at the check out aisle today…nothing vital…overpriced energy drinks…

I guess that sometimes, when a person busts through every single door in her heart, burns the whole place down and eats up the ashes to soak up the poison in her blood…well, sometimes she may tend to overlook the tedium of account balances…I have a hard time finding the appropriate line…

Overnights will suit me well. Do you remember when I could barely stake awake past 8 p? I was severely depressed and nobody had a problem with it. I am fine now, better than ever except for the wrenching…the wrenching I can’t really write about…

Tomorrow I begin my series of partial hospitalization days…um, yay? Yeah. Crazy again. Ya fuckin’ haters. Can’t you just leave me be. I am not hurting anyone…just trying to stay unhurt myself.

I have several members lined up for an on going experimental lo-budget music project involving myself and one other player…Folie a Deux featuring Faith and Her Ghosts…come play music with me…no. Not you. Get over yourself. I only play music with actual people…most of whom seem diagnosable or transient.

(Do I really need to write this again?) I’m not crazy. Thanks, though, I really appreciate your concern. Now go find something more worthwhile to do with your time.

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