Twelve Steps.
Pick it up. Pick it up! Just pick it up!! Now!
Ok. That's good. Good job, moved the right foot.
Now the left. Man, I'm thirsty!
I can't believe how heavy my foot is. I never noticed it before. How much walking have I done in my 32 years? Well, let's see. I'm told I took 4 steps right before bedtime on June 6, 1977. After that they accumulated too fast for anyone to keep track. I wonder if I thought about how heavy my feet were when I just started to walk?
Ok...left foot. Pick it up. Pick...it...up! That's it. And...step. Great.
Ok. Right foot again. Whew! I really am tired. I know I already went over this a million times, but this is definitely the most tired I've ever felt. And I'm really thirsty. I can't think about that.
Come on, right foot.
Ready...one...two...three...LIFT! And...step. Oh, yeah. Still movin'. Still heading toward the shade. Hello, shade. I can see you. You're shimmering...no, you're waving at me. You must have water, right? How else would there be trees? And those are trees making the shade. I'm certain. It's not very clear...I have to squint so much. Ready, left foot?
STEP! Awesome. That one almost felt easy. My left foot is lighter than my right. I never noticed that before. I know my right arm is stronger than my left. But I guess my left foot is lighter. Maybe to compensate for the extra weight on my right arm. Weird. Maybe I'll just step with my left foot. No. If I only step with one foot I'll turn. And I want to keep going toward the shade. Hello, shade. Right foot, move.
Move! Lift! Pick up! Come on, right foot! What did I do to you? Oh, yeah. I got mad and kicked that rock when the truck broke down. Why did I do that? I do that a lot...react to things that I can't really do anything about. At least my right foot stopped really hurting. Come to think of it, I can't feel it. I can see it down there. Well, I assume it's in my shoe. Ok, don't stop and stare at your shoe. Move the right foot already. And...STEP! AAARRRRHHH.
Good. Ok, no breaks. Let's keep moving. Ready, left?
GO. Pick up. Lift. Crap. Come on, lefty. Don't mess with me. You're on my good side right now! Let's go! Ssssssstep! There. Ok. Now the right. I have to stop contemplating the process and keep stepping or I'll never get to the shade. Shade? Oh, hello there. You're still there waiting. Good. I'm coming, shade. Don't worry. I'll be there before you know it. Ok, right. Don't make me drag you. Now...GO!
Pickup, pickup, pickup, pickup! GGGRRRRRRHHH. Yesss! Good job, right. I'll try to remember to soak you in some nice cool water later. Shoot. Don't say cool water! Dang it! I said cool water again. Crud!!! Quit saying coo...WAIT. I can't think about that right now. Left foot. Time to move the left foot.
Ok. Get ready. Get set. GO! Yes. It's nice to know you're still there for me left foot. Not like old gimpy over there. Let's go, gimper. Move one for the gimper! Gimp one for the mover! And...GO!
I...said...GO!! L...i....ft. Whew! I thought you weren't going to do it that time, righty. Maybe you're my clutch guy. Lefty keeps up the consistent performance, and you come through just in time when I really need you. You're a good team, feet. Ok, lefty, show 'em how it's done. Hey, lefty, lefty, lefty...LIFT!
And...step. Good. Hey, we must be getting closer to shade. Quick peek. Yep. Ok. Shade's still there, it's still hot, and I'm still thirsty. No. Don't go there. Shade will take care of us when we get there. Won't you, Shade? Shady. Shady lady. Lady Shady. Shady luck. Made in the shade. Ok, righty. It's all you. Actually, right foot, not to be picky, but right leg is doing all the real work. You're just down there all numb and slow and stuff. Help me out, right leg. Move that clunker. We'll do it together. Ready? MOVE!
My bad, right leg. I didn't say when. I will say "move" and THEN we'll move the right foot. Ready? MOVE! RRRRHHHHHGGG. Great! Nice job, leg. You da leg!
That has to be like a quarter of a mile, right? We're getting closer, Shade. I'll be there in a flash. Just hang on.
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Anyone who goes to a psychiatrist should have his head examined. - Samuel Goldwyn
Seth doesn't believe in psychiatrists. He doesn't disagree with their findings. He doesn't quibble with their methods. He doesn't illigitemize their purpose. He simply believes they do not exist.
His mother told him for years about the great strides made in her visits to her shrink. Seth decided early on that when your husband leaves you for a woman he met on the subway, you get to take weekly trips wherever you want and then claim you were seeing a doctor. A little irrational behavior is fine when you consider the causes. At least Seth had the sense to leave her alone and not try to convince her she was a little more crazy than she knew. Right. Like there's really a doctor you can talk to and he can fix your head.
Seth did argue about this with Dale, though. Dale said, "I think your mom really goes to a doctor."
"She does not. There are no doctors that fix peoples' heads."
"So where does she go, then?"
"Macy's."
"Macy's!"
"Yeah, she goes shopping for an hour then comes home."
"So what does she buy?"
"Mostly clothes and sometimes she gets toys."
"I never see any of this stuff."
"You're usually not here when she gets home."
"Ok. Have you ever seen the stuff?"
"No. She likes to donate it to less fortunate people."
"Really."
Seth was deadpan. Dale seemed skeptical.
"Then how do you know she buys anything at all?"
"She told me I don't get a new set of encyclopedias because her 'doctor' costs too much. How would you explain that?"
Dale chuckled, "She's really going to a doctor."
"Yeah, right. I told you..."
"I know."
"...and she's allergic to perfume."
"What?"
"Yeah. She has to walk by the perfume counter every time she leaves the store. She's allergic to the perfume and so by the time she gets home her eyes are all red and it looks like she's been crying."
"Maybe she was crying...at the doctor's."
"Oh, come on."
That's as close as Dale ever gets to logic. He doesn't try to argue with Seth usually. Seth is smart. When Dale visits, he usually just asks questions.
"Where are we right now?"
"My room."
"No, jerk. What is the address here. I'm trying to find us on Google Earth."
"600 East 125th Street...we're in 714"
"Oh, there we are by the river. Just like outside the window."
"Yep."
At dinner time, Seth sits in his chair with his tray of food. Dale is gone. Mother came home an hour ago, eyes red as usual, but she never eats with Seth. He asks her if she had a good time and she says. He eats his dinner quietly, reads a little bit from his encyclopedia, Volume MNOP, and goes to bed.
Good progress. For the 2nd week in a row, Seth only sees Dale and his mother. Dale seems harmless and Seth will probably keep seeing his mother for a few more years. Maybe then he can begin to process that she's gone. But, it has only been a few months.
Seth Wilson patient progress notes.
May 19, 2007
Dr. John Shalk
Manhattan Psychiatric Center
Manhattan State Hospital
Case 1568769-A11
His mother told him for years about the great strides made in her visits to her shrink. Seth decided early on that when your husband leaves you for a woman he met on the subway, you get to take weekly trips wherever you want and then claim you were seeing a doctor. A little irrational behavior is fine when you consider the causes. At least Seth had the sense to leave her alone and not try to convince her she was a little more crazy than she knew. Right. Like there's really a doctor you can talk to and he can fix your head.
Seth did argue about this with Dale, though. Dale said, "I think your mom really goes to a doctor."
"She does not. There are no doctors that fix peoples' heads."
"So where does she go, then?"
"Macy's."
"Macy's!"
"Yeah, she goes shopping for an hour then comes home."
"So what does she buy?"
"Mostly clothes and sometimes she gets toys."
"I never see any of this stuff."
"You're usually not here when she gets home."
"Ok. Have you ever seen the stuff?"
"No. She likes to donate it to less fortunate people."
"Really."
Seth was deadpan. Dale seemed skeptical.
"Then how do you know she buys anything at all?"
"She told me I don't get a new set of encyclopedias because her 'doctor' costs too much. How would you explain that?"
Dale chuckled, "She's really going to a doctor."
"Yeah, right. I told you..."
"I know."
"...and she's allergic to perfume."
"What?"
"Yeah. She has to walk by the perfume counter every time she leaves the store. She's allergic to the perfume and so by the time she gets home her eyes are all red and it looks like she's been crying."
"Maybe she was crying...at the doctor's."
"Oh, come on."
That's as close as Dale ever gets to logic. He doesn't try to argue with Seth usually. Seth is smart. When Dale visits, he usually just asks questions.
"Where are we right now?"
"My room."
"No, jerk. What is the address here. I'm trying to find us on Google Earth."
"600 East 125th Street...we're in 714"
"Oh, there we are by the river. Just like outside the window."
"Yep."
At dinner time, Seth sits in his chair with his tray of food. Dale is gone. Mother came home an hour ago, eyes red as usual, but she never eats with Seth. He asks her if she had a good time and she says. He eats his dinner quietly, reads a little bit from his encyclopedia, Volume MNOP, and goes to bed.
Good progress. For the 2nd week in a row, Seth only sees Dale and his mother. Dale seems harmless and Seth will probably keep seeing his mother for a few more years. Maybe then he can begin to process that she's gone. But, it has only been a few months.
Seth Wilson patient progress notes.
May 19, 2007
Dr. John Shalk
Manhattan Psychiatric Center
Manhattan State Hospital
Case 1568769-A11
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