fifteen minutes

there are fifteen minutes left to my day. fourteen. at a quarter to eleven, my nurse will come by with my HS meds: seroquel, ambien. no benzos, because benzos taken after eight will interfere with tomorrow morning's anesthesia.

twelve.

it's been a hard day; tomorrow they're releasing me and although i have a good plan for the day, it's enough stress for me to feel bad.

i develop a distinctive and unpleasant odor when i am under significant stress. i do not smell good tonight.

shep 6 has been a hard place to be all day; there has been much yelling, shouts of people in pain, yips and barks that are regular and startling. they are the sounds of people in intense pain. it sounds like their souls are being ripped out, string by string.

six.

but tomorrow after my ECT i'm expected to sleep for a while and then i'm getting sprung. my mom will come and take me home.

wednesday is choir practice and of course i won't be permitted to drive, so rumblestrip will pick me up at home and bring me. afterward, she'll return me home and stay with me a while; if i get really lucky she'll stay with me until i fall asleep.

four.

i love rumblestrip as well as i love anyone. i try not to be too mushy because it spoils my curmudgeonly persona that i work so hard to project, but rumblestrip can get away with calling me by a term of endearment that i not only tolerate but enjoy.

but YOU can't call me that and hope to live to tell about it, not unless you're rumblestrip.

well. i'm overdue for my meds, which means i'd better find my nurse. i'll have time later to go on about rumlestrip in rhapsodic fashion.

and you know i will, too.

Good Night, Good Friends.