Paranoia and other pleasant things

Flexing all kinds of muscles

Timi’s sick with fever - the kindergarten’s token snotty brat passed a virus to her. I could strangle a certain mommy that brought said snotty brat with 39,0 into the community, saying that “nah, she’s not infectious” and leaving the germ spitter with eleven kids for eight hours. Way to go, Einstein.

I started running this week. The legs hurt like hell but tasting the endorphine rush that comes after the effort is well worth it.

Mia went on vacation for a month so I’m left with with both mine and her patients. I don’t complain though - lots of true psychotics and savage murderers are coming my way to be examined / profiled/ expertised and my inner forensic psychologist is somersaulting with joy. Since Monday I had started taking cases from Sancta Sanctorum, the closed part of the ward, where dracones sunt.

And there they were, all dying to meet me:

The “former emissary of Romania at the United Nations”, persecuted by the government because of what he knows, influencing his thoughts and poisoning him with active zinc (isn’t that the main ingredient in acne creams?) in the eye, which poisoning he only escaped by having a doc injecting a tumor in said eye. “The tumor protects me now”, whispered he;

A slim teenager who didn’t trust me one bit, because she couldn’t read my thoughts like she was able to do with everybody else;

A sad lady who felt at fault for everything and less worthy than a dust bunny (so said the voices, which knew what they were saying, for the voices must be obeyed). She had to be longly and painfully convinced to swallow her medication;

and a cleaning lady who didn’t want to let me in when I came there in the morning, because I wasn’t wearing a white uniform and I had pigtails. The look on her face when a nurse jumped her sorry ass for not believing me when I said who I was could easily be chosen as the flagship of Kodak moments.

Posted under: Timi, hospital