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poop beetle: I'm going to make it through this year if it kills me.
6.2006
I responded to a free astrology reading thing a while back- knowing better, but bored and reckless. I declined to pay for the immensely life altering parts, but ended up on a mailing list.
Apparently I've got three dates to look forward to in July. The email informed me the moon would shut down its influence on one of those days and the sun would be blocked by some sun-storm stuff on two different occasions. During this limited BLOCKING of astral energy, for a fee, my astrologer could do some mojo stuff and get my life on track.
This website has my birth date info and I was curious how it was they knew I'd be more likely to believe that only when the stars were blocked could I imagine stuff going my way.
The promise of MONEY and PERSONAL POWER squashed my initial intrigue -in addition to my name being used repeatedly in a fat cartoonish, aqua-blue font.
Nothing in Caps can be worth paying for, plus- PLUS- I am bored and disgusted by any and all promises of money and personal power. I've seen those guys that get that stuff. Or, I've seen SOME of them. I've seen the ones, who appear to have provided the Danishes- although, thinking about it, you know they didn't personally buy, or even pick out those Danishes. And now that I think about a bit more, the fact that they would spend time and energy projecting the impression that they were in some way responsible for the Danishes- the fact they would even acknowledge the Danishes (would a truly powerful person do that? I think no.) Leads me to believe I've not likely met the real big wigs- the seriously powerful- the ones who are satisfactorily in control. No, I've only met their pawns. Likely the pawns of pawns. I don't blame them. I don't blame myself. I keep going for the raspberry thinking they'll taste better than they do. No matter how often we break, the Danishes never run out. The left overs appear in the break room, on the same platter with one of those high-grade paper plates on top, protecting them from the gnats.
It would be the grossest thing in the world to eat one of those left over meeting Danishes, but I've considered it. I've stolen saltine crackers and tiny cups of apple juice- and hovered for a second over that upside down paper plate- flipped it up once when no one was looking- but no. No.
I've moved around in the hospital, working a few different floors. Last night a patient I've cared for in the past- an old man 75 or so, about 6' 2/ 250lbs- healthy and thoroughly demented- decided to quit trying to break for the parking lot where he hoped to find his truck which he hoped to drive to Jacksonville, Mississippi (good times where I kept him distracted by printing him out random Yahoo maps and asking him "what about the weather?" "Have you listened to the traffic reports?")
Last night he mixed it up a bit by visiting the other patient's rooms. It wasn't so much a problem when he ended up in another crazy patient's room, but at one point he stripped butt naked and I just barely caught him in time from going into the room of a very alert/oriented- angry little woman (because - what kind of place were we running here?) And I could not tell her I was unable to return to her room when I'd said I would ("I'll be RIGHT back) because I was busy keeping Jackson, MS from rushing the door and/or stripping naked and then rushing the door.
You can't tell people that. It seems as if you're telling them their problems are not so important. It feels unseemly.
Which is why I love drugs. I love what they can do. But, at the same time it's fairly fascinating what they can't do. And a whole bunch of drugs- in increments, not wanting to "put him down"- (in an obvious way- In truth that's exactly what I wanted. Like a rhino. Down boy. Down!)- Didn't work.
Sometime later another patient fell and hit his head because I'd told him I'd be back to help him at 2300- and I wasn't and so he got pissed and got up and tripped over the cord in his IV pole (He fell at exactly 2305.)- I got a little time away from Jackson- rushing "what 'in the hell kind of place are you running around here?"- Guy, to CT to scan his cracked head.
In the elevator I told him, "Let me tell you. The truth. Hospitalization, now a days- it's a little like camping. (I thought that was fairly inspired)- no. Mad/Fall guy was not persuaded. And according to him, had NEVER camped-
"what kind of idiot goes camping? "
To which I agreed; because #1 all the recent reports of bear attacks and #2 Why argue? Like I have a point to make?
Later on we got enough junk on board Jackson to make him a fall risk - this was somehow an improvement as he'd been "swatting out" - not actually hitting, but responding poorly to the stern "limits" approach from the nursing assistant.
He sat next to me in the early morning while I charted. He seemed to think when I was done we would be leaving. From time to time he'd chant in a low voice "Got to go, got to go, got to go."
To me he'd say, "Ok kiddo, you ready to ride?"
Oh, crap. Don't get Alzheimer's.
But if you do- totally strip and run rampant and charge the door. Mississippi, or bust.
I'm not kidding.
