Dirty Fingernails 10 November 1998

This morning, I woke up after what felt like a long, long sleep because I heard someone sweeping in the hall outside. It took me a minute of lying there to remember that the hall outside my apartment is carpeted. I sat up a little, and it was all wrong - I wasn't home at all, I was in the hospital.

I felt fairly calm, considering. It was a dark green room, with heavy curtains on the window that were drawn now. Odd for a hospital room, really. But then, I didn't know what kind of hospital it was. More importantly, I had no idea why I was there, or how I'd gotten there. I wasn't bandaged, I didn't seem to be recovering from any injuries. What did I do?

Now I started to worry a little. Because, well, when you're in a hospital that looks more like a hotel room, it's probably one of those "special" hospitals. For silly people, you know. And I didn't know why I was there. It didn't even feel like I couldn't remember, more like I never knew, like I had been gone and just returned to find myself in this place.

Did I do something again? Do something, hell. I must have completely lost it. How else would I have wound up here? But I feel fine. Perfectly fine. Fuck.

I've always had this sneaking, nightmarish fear that I would find out one day that I had "gone wandering" and done something horrible, and then completely forgotten about it. I actually thought I had killed someone once. It took me all day just to convince myself it was a dream. And even then, well, what does it say that I found that so plausible? What do I know that I'm not telling myself? Is the ice that thin?

So, being in hospital, not knowing why - not good. Not good. I wasn't tied down or handcuffed, I supposed that was a good sign. And the other bed in the room is probably just vacant because they don't have that many patients. I bet I could walk right up to that door, open it, and leave. Any time.

Maybe I should just go back to sleep and wait for someone to show up and tell me what's going on. What I've been doing.

And then of course I woke up and I was back in my bedroom. So either it was a dream, or the aliens have really tacky abduction rooms. Ha ha. See, a joke I make, I'm not rattled, nope.

Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.

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All names are fake, most places are real, the author is definitely unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep. © 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne.