Quick Update

Today I had my first day of outpatient care.

I woke up bright and early, took part I of my medication, brushed my hair and teeth, and got dressed in some of my favorite clothes. Aside from a brief internal debate regarding when we'll run out of water as an ecosystem (never, I'll drink elephant-poop-water like Bear if I have to), the morning went down like any day of school ever ought to.

If you've never visited the mental wing of a hospital, I suggest it. Everyone imagines screaming, hair-pulling geriatrics and anorexic pyrophiliacs, but couldn't be further from the truth: Even under the veil of lithium and some warmed blankets, there was a sense of calm that radiated from the place like purr from a kitten.

It was the outpatient office that made me remember why I carry mace.

There were two men, one the patient and the other, I'm guessing by his age to be either younger brother or state-sponsored caretaker. Both were hunched over and glaring, regarding myself and the bell-like ass of the woman next to me like we were gnats.

Thunder and the force of heavily falling rain made everything abuzz, giving the building a nervous energy. The 3d puzzle of a boat on my doctor's wall trembled and for a while, we just discussed the weather and why staying in bed would have been the better option for the morning.

On my way out, a woman who looked atavistic walked straight towards me. I don't mean that in the way the people I attended high school looked atavistic, but in a true, slack-jawed, empty-eyed, soulless way. Another doctor, at the end of the hall, told me to scoot to the side, so I flattened myself to the wall as this woman shuffles past; turning left as he directs her to, in the beginning of what I assume to be a lap around the square shaped office.

It reminded me of two things. Firstly, never agree to any further medication, and secondly, I want to be either a zombie or a zombie hunter this Halloween.

Anyone know where one can procure a used, preferably brain-encrusted cricket bat?