I have deleted the entry that was previously here, as it was just inane (not "insane") blathering. I'm not saying that my other entries are not such, but this particular one was plainly the worst of the worst.

 

...and I actually don't remember the door as red in color, and the red chair was probably beige, and I remember that the desk was constantly cluttered with papers.

     These memories are not consistent with the picture.

I painted ths while staying in the hospital room, and now when I look at it months later the room isn't how I remember it. I remember it as very messy, the bed was always unkept, I had taped random pictures on the walls, and I kept stuff all over my desk for sure.

     However my picture shows a very neat and tidy room, inconsistent with the disorderliness that I remember.

 

Maybe the whole room was actually filled with water and I am actually a goldfish.

 

2008

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   Update  November 07/2008

 

On second thought, I really miss the people there...

The other inpatients were so understanding and kind, although the psychiatrists were crap.

And the wonderful psychiatrist with the intelligent balding head was gone, I wonder where he is now, I hope he gets paid more because he writes down so much notes about his patients like a university student sitting in the front row of the class while learning quantum physics. I sincerely admire such intelligent people.. also such bald people in general, hmm that was random.

 

but the other doctors were crap.

 

However there was one doctor who was really genuine.

And even though I know that no one is perfect, to me she is perfect.

 

She actually lives nearby so I see her at Safeway from time to time. Sometimes she comes to my checkstand with her groceries, and she always donates to the food bank. (NOT stale bread or old cans of soup from your house that you can live without.... instead she actually buys pricey things from Safeway --and our store is becoming ridiculously overpriced-- and then before she leaves the store she puts them into the food bank.)

 

But when she comes to the checkstand, as a cashier I just act as a cashier and I have trouble talking normally.

When she says hi, I blush profusely and I can't relax. I avoid eye contact, so I have to make a conscious effort to raise my head up and meet her eyes. But she has gorgeous eyes.

As she says goodbye, I try to remember every aspect of her (her voice, how her hair looked, do her eyes look tired today, etc) so that I could get a mental snapshot of her. But the image fades away after a night's sleep.

 

While the other aspects of the hospital were not good, I think if I could have the opportunity to sit and have another conversation with her, I would go back.

I'm not sick anymore, but dear God: Put me in the psych ward, please.