June 05, 2003
Another one from the Cuckoo Diary
I'm going to quote this one word-for word from my journal:
"I am feeling odd this evening, which may be the result of running a low-grade fever (100.6), probably because of some infection I have from the cuts on my left arm and all the needles I've had poked in me since I've been here. Why do they GIVE you three pints of blood, then turn right around and TAKE IT OUT one needlefull at a time?
"Didn't they check that shit before they gave it to me? Why do they need to sample it again every four hours? If I come down with AIDS from this, NOBODY is going to believe that I got it from a blood transfusion. I'll be branded a faggot for the rest of my life.
"Hell, maybe I outghta try homosexuality. I might like it, and I damn sure keep male friends longer than I hang onto women. But I have a problem, because given the choice between sleeping with a nekkid Kim Basinger or a nekkid Brad Pitt, I'm going to pick BOTH, so Brad and I can play "Spin the Kim."
"If I can pick only one, though, Brad is SOL. I'm just hard-wired that way.
"I've had a difficult time keeping track of days and hours in here. If I hadn't kept this journal, I wouldn't be sure that today is Sunday. Light and dark, or rain and shine don't register in this place, where most of the lights are on all the time and the only sounds you hear are generated by the nutcakes, the nurses and the machines. It must be a lot like what life was like in Hitler's bunker at the end of WWII.
"I don't know where I am. Everything became a big, indistinct gob of ectoplasm days ago, with no seams and no boundaries. It's like being in that big, white room in 2001, A Space Oddessy. You start to believe that this can't be real. I expect to wake up any minute to discover that this whole experience has been a terrible nightmare.
"But I know better than that. I have been here too long and seen too much shit to think I am dreaming. I have a good imagination, but it ain't THAT good. Only a CRAZY PERSON could dream up the shit I've seen for the past nine days. After what I have seen in here, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am NOT crazy. I've SEEN crazy, and that ain't me.
"The thought of getting out tomorrow gives me a nervous tingle, the way I always feel on the last day of vacation, when I know we have to pack and catch a plane the next morning. I have been here too long, especially in the state I've occupied emotionally. It has been rough and almost terrifying a couple of times. If you're not nuts when you get here, the place does the best it can to make you that way.
"Maybe the trip was necessary. In every epic tale, the hero must make some sort of existential journey into the Underworld, where he is tested mightily before he emerges, reborn from the experience. I've made one hell of a descent, that's for sure. Now, let's see how I emerge.
"I'm beginning to hallucinate or anticipate-- I'm not sure which, but some sounds are hitting me as "homey" and it takes a second or two for me to realize where I am. Watching TV in the Psycho Activity Center, I heard the clatter of dishes and thought, "That's Jennifer in the kitchen" before I realized that I wasn't at home. Same thing when somebody cranked up a chainsaw outside today. I was back on Twin Oak Drive for a minute.
"I wonder if that sensory weirdness will continue when I get out of here?"
I wrote that entry with my bags packed, ready to go. The next day, I was told that I wasn't leaving because MY FAMILY vetoed my release. I spent another night in that place and was locked away for 35 more days in a DIFFERENT prison after that, thanks to the actions of my ex-wife, who needed some time with me out of the picture to get her ducks in a row. She conned my Mama for that purpose.
So, I tell all you sensitive, tender-eared, easily-offended people out there that the term "BLOODLESS CUNT" fits sometimes, and I use it when it does.
My ex-wife is a bloodless cunt.
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