Me: Not only finished that last hardbound journal, I copied any keeper poems from three volumes. As a reward, that I have to stop, I had a slice of cake for desert. Upset by Duck’s response to the new med.
G: Came home laughing and smiling. Again. Worn down by Duck’s response to the new med.
Work: Padre’s 2008 Schedule. We only have to work 77 out of 84 games this year. Wow.
“No, you aren’t going crazy>”
“There’s a bunch of thoughts in my head, and I don’t know which are real and which aren’t," he told G. He followed that with, “The road was closed.”
He tried to go home. He tried to go home to Whitewater. He didn’t know what city was living in, or where he was, but he tried to get in his car and go to his apartment.
“Do I have a car?”
“No, Duck, You don’t have a car.”
He knew his brother was dead, he knew his father had passed away, but he thought his mother was still alive.
“There was a huge rug in the living room. Where is it. It was appraised at forty thousand dollars. Where’s all my stuff?”
Cutting right to the point, “You haven’t had it since I have known you.”
He just sat there.
I left them and went down the hall to talk to his nurse. He had been drinking all his fluids. It must be the new med.
“Is it ok if I eat my desert?” He asked.
“You can do anything you want to,” G replied.
So he ate every bite of his chocolate pudding and wanted to go to his room. He didn’t know where it was though. We walked him down and stopped him from going into several other rooms.
“All these people leave these apartments open.”
“Yes, you leave yours open too, Duck.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“It really doesn’t matter.”
“I guess you are right,” he said his voice trailing off.
“Oh, there’s my room.” His voice rose.
I wonder what he recognized about this door that looked no different than other doors on this long hallway.