What do you want from me? “
Quote accredited to the ever awesome and odd words of Brittney Spears circa time of y2k, whom, as per recent concerns from #tictocfans might need a time traveler to head back to 2000s and do a better shot at polishing up her up for the grand performance of DO you want a Piece of me. A ballad she so famously sloppily flopped that even I, who is an avid non #Spearsfan chose to announce my first blog intro with her as the title subject. Welp It’s Britney bitch for argument s sake. More on arguments sake later.
Apologies for the tardy yet Swift introduction…
“It”s me. Hi’ I’m the problem, it’s me”
Or
“Hi what’s up. Hello”
Whatever Greeting gives you the urge to read on….. pssssp it’s worth it…
anyway
Welcome to my surrealworld! I will def add anything I find ironic iconic ignoramic…. Yet another typical blog or perhaps something that gives us a little pin Celebratic quote?! Celeb news? random facts theories, fashion, art and a ticket to my #Mindspace not to be confused with #myspace bc well where did that entire online obsession obscure to? Roanoke anyone?
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Something Else, Different
It was my second or third night in the PICU - psychiatric intensive care unit. Bewitched, the one with Will Ferrell and Nicole Kidman, was playing on the TV lobby… if we can consider it a lobby, it was more like a “watch desk” for the nurses and techs with a miniature table and miniature plastic chairs for inpatients to eat meals towards the back wall.
It was night. Just one nurse in the PICU.
Where was my mother? She was with me before… it had been a while… in fact the last time I saw her I was tied ankles and wrists to a hospital bed! Where was she??
So there I am in my cement room when I hear friendly but urgent voices debating over something, trying to make some sort of a mutual decision. I was stuck here in a silly gown and silly socks. Why was I here? Who was in charge? Where were my parents?
The voices from the TV were saying, “I’m moving here.”
“Why on Earth would you do that?”
“Because it’s normal.”
“You’re normal. You’re just…”
“I know. But I’m not gonna be one anymore.”
“You have no choice in the matter. It’s what you are.”
Where was my dad? He definitely felt close. Surely someone had notified him by now. What did he think of all this?
A male voice from the TV, “And who is this?”
“This is my father.”
“How witchy is that? We talk about your father and he turns up.”
I leaped up and made my way to stand in front of the TV, mantled just a foot or two directly above the night nurse’s head.
“You’ve turned your back on your own kind.”
“And now you live down the street from a Denny’s.” I looked to where he might have been talking about.
“Don’t make fun of my life.” I took a few sudden steps, charging forward a bit, towards the TV. “I could make fun of your life.”
Nicole Kidman and her movie dad left the screen. I went back into my room and sat on the thin mattress atop an aluminum frame. I had to get out of here. But I couldn’t! Someone else had to get me out of here.
The PICU had two doors, and they both needed key cards to open. The lobby had no windows, and get this, the entire back wall of my room was a window, but it was heavy duty with a 6 foot wall of dirt on the other side of it! with about 2 inches of sunlight sneaking in from the top, where the ground was.
And what about Whitney, my roommate. Where was she?
The movie actor’s voices floated in from the watch desk TV…
“I didn’t expect you guys to be here.”
“Okay, as you know, we’re here for Bewtiched. But not the old one. It’s being retooled.”
“But is there going to be a Samantha?”
“Of course. Isabell, could you come out here?”
I presented myself to the watch desk TV.
“Be brave. You look beautiful.”
I stood, unsure of what would happen, but ready. Ready for anything.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the press I’d like you to meet the talented and delightful Ms. Isabel Bigelow.”
“Say hello to the people, Isabel.”
I waved.
The night nurse looked at me.
“Hello.”
“No, no, into the microphone. Here, here.”
I calmly repositioned myself to try again.
“Hello.”
She dropped her pen onto the watchdesk.
“Now do that thing that you do.”
I disappeared into her mind, turned that radio station volume up and reappeared in a flash.
“Isn’t that great?”
The nurse, staring, started to move slowly towards the door. The door!
I locked onto her and snapped into action.
“Bob?” She said my nickname drawn out a bit and with a question at the end. “Boob?”
I sped walked towards her.
“No! No, Bob!”
I was practically hugging her as she stumbled toward the door. She held me back as she swiped her key card, “Bob! No!” and she slid out of the PICU, door thudding and clicked shut.
I peered out of the thick, narrow window. It was too narrow. I couldn’t see two inches down the hallway.
“And of course she hates me, don’t you?”
“Anything you say, Jerry.”
About five minutes later when I was standing near the miniature table for meals, oh and coloring, how could I forget the coloring, a male nurse in his early 30’s with big arms and mounds of muscle on top of his shoulders made his entrance into the PICU. He placed his hands palms down on the watchdesk, looked at me and said, “Hello, Bob.”
I didn’t bother, rolled my eyes a bit as I turned and walked back into my cement room.
- ExistentialDeLiberation
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