Chapter Nineteen
This is so confusing.
I'm sat here in this hospital waiting room where the stench of old people (the stench of death) haunts the cobwebbed corners of every inch of this place. I knock the sleep from the corner of my eyes. It's 8:35AM. My hands are dirty and so are my elbows. I'm waiting for this rookie kid-doctor to get back and tell me what's what with me. Here he comes. What kind of Doctor wears Converses?
"So Grandpa - tell me your story once more"
Arrogent prick. I told him about my change of state of mind. I told him about the coincidental journey i'm on with some crazy thrift store saviour. I told him how i keep passing out for no reason. I told him how i felt dizzy in the cafe. I told him how i came out of the restroom spinning. I told him how i landed on my companion, grabing her for support, gasping for help, before falling to the floor and passing out again. I told him about the darkness. About being alone in nothingness.
"Well, you've got a fucked up head - that's one thing. I'll give you the basic - fluid on the brain. contained in something like a bubble. Not much of it, but enough to cause, like, a black cauldren of all the physical side-effects of a mid-life crisis, coupled with nausia, delerium, all that stuff. A pick n mix of the weird and the wonderful, ha-ha"
Patronizing jack-ass. Laughing at his own, almost lyrical, cleverness. At least when doctor's talk to you in jargon you feel slightly respected.
"So you dont actually know whats wrong with me then?"
"Nope, ha-ha. But not to worry. Take these."
A pick n mix of pills. One to keep me sedated, one to keep me normal. This little piggy stops the fall outs. This little piggy helps me get home. This little piggy gives me side affects and this little piggy will send me to the nut house.
I leave this guy and go to find her. She's talking to a nun in the waiting room. I overhear some of the chat...
"But, if he was coming back, do you think he'd want to help us? Do you think he cares? Do you think he'll find it flattering that we worship the thing he was killed on? I mean, you don't go shaking hands with one of those joke buzzer things when greeting the ghost of some poor soul from 'the chair' do you?"
Only one person i know can go to a hospital and try and talk a nun out of 'the habit'.
I'm sat here in this hospital waiting room where the stench of old people (the stench of death) haunts the cobwebbed corners of every inch of this place. I knock the sleep from the corner of my eyes. It's 8:35AM. My hands are dirty and so are my elbows. I'm waiting for this rookie kid-doctor to get back and tell me what's what with me. Here he comes. What kind of Doctor wears Converses?
"So Grandpa - tell me your story once more"
Arrogent prick. I told him about my change of state of mind. I told him about the coincidental journey i'm on with some crazy thrift store saviour. I told him how i keep passing out for no reason. I told him how i felt dizzy in the cafe. I told him how i came out of the restroom spinning. I told him how i landed on my companion, grabing her for support, gasping for help, before falling to the floor and passing out again. I told him about the darkness. About being alone in nothingness.
"Well, you've got a fucked up head - that's one thing. I'll give you the basic - fluid on the brain. contained in something like a bubble. Not much of it, but enough to cause, like, a black cauldren of all the physical side-effects of a mid-life crisis, coupled with nausia, delerium, all that stuff. A pick n mix of the weird and the wonderful, ha-ha"
Patronizing jack-ass. Laughing at his own, almost lyrical, cleverness. At least when doctor's talk to you in jargon you feel slightly respected.
"So you dont actually know whats wrong with me then?"
"Nope, ha-ha. But not to worry. Take these."
A pick n mix of pills. One to keep me sedated, one to keep me normal. This little piggy stops the fall outs. This little piggy helps me get home. This little piggy gives me side affects and this little piggy will send me to the nut house.
I leave this guy and go to find her. She's talking to a nun in the waiting room. I overhear some of the chat...
"But, if he was coming back, do you think he'd want to help us? Do you think he cares? Do you think he'll find it flattering that we worship the thing he was killed on? I mean, you don't go shaking hands with one of those joke buzzer things when greeting the ghost of some poor soul from 'the chair' do you?"
Only one person i know can go to a hospital and try and talk a nun out of 'the habit'.
posted by TokenArtStudent at 1:39 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home