Again, I have no idea where I am when I wake up. It's not my bedroom -- much less charm. Is it a walk of shame night? Nope. Way worse. I'm still in AP3, the most extreme of extreme outposts for God's suicidal and homicidal maniacs inhabiting Monmouth County, NJ. This thought immediatly drives me into action, for I would be neither of the two if not for one overtly dramatic and yet to be told remark.
A 300 lb. man in the room next to me moans desprately for nicotine. A woman down the hall screams about lesbian rape. A 45-year old retarted woman a doorway away is on the bad end of a violent bath from two innocent volunteers. Nurses chatter and giggle. I am here. This is real. I am fucking here. I am a piece of this soft violence. Thursday's hydrating I.V. dream is far distant in the rearview mirror. K is way a mile away. She burned rubber and I can't blame her. No cell phone battery. No change. I have to deal with this. The only way out is straight through the middle. Time for a bum rush. Mosh pit experience finally comes in handy. I rise out of bed, lower my head and make a straight path to the bathroom to puke. I catch a glint of sanity in my doorway before I get too far to turn back. "If you're Patrick, the doctor wants to see you," she says. I hold my cookies.
25 years ago I was eating Cocoa Puffs and watching School House Rock on Saturday morning TV. Today I'm splitting hairs with God's disappeared and thanking the almighty that a man wearing a tie wants to talk to my dirty, gritty, strung out face. Thank god I had the forethought to bring the ever versitile baseball cap to make me almost automatically presentable. This is my most important meeting ever.
3 comments:
Hey bud
Sorry I cant feed your craving for some kick ass feed back,least not yet. Just want to say hang in there,I know your going thru and have already passed over some really fucked up times. Hang in there and remember you have me and many others as friends. We rarely speak now a days and sometimes just pass each other a email of something like Anna Kornakovas ass, I do miss seeing you and am very happy you are my friend. You always have a place to crash down in Hilton Head.
Mike
Yo, wassup? Tom Davis here. Thanks for including me in this. I feel honored. I can relate, in some small way. I write a column on this sort of thing for The Bergen Record, actually, and I've written about myself. I've also written about my mother, who suffered for a number of years and had a similar story
Here's the link to my columns, by the way:
http://www.northjersey.com/columnists.php?qstr=eXJpcnk3ZjcxN2Y3dnFlZUVFeXk5JnlyaXJ5N2Y3MzdmN3ZxZWVFRXl5MjkzJnBieWh6YXZmZzdmN3ZxZWVFRXl5MzAmbmVwdXZpcmVlRUV5eTE=
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