Delta40
06-11-2011, 03:07 AM
Fremantle Hospital again. Is this a slow motion replay? There's the kick. Lesley runs wides and takes a diving header. Straight into the hands of the goalie who passes it to the sweeper. That's how it feels as the nurse tries to pick me up off the floor. 'Oh Dr Barlow, I was doing my rounds and I heard a terrific crash. I came running in here and there she was just as she is now.' I hear her God-like worship. Dr Barlow is at least 25 and single. I don't mind if he slips a stethoscope down my top. What? You think I'm mad? Out of 6.8 billion people, how many fat middle aged women do you think are lying on a hospital floor right now?
Dr Barlow's hands are gentle and I don't have to have an opinion if one isn't required. I'm not a vital part of societal machinery and I doubt the workshop that took me in will even stick a spark plug into my cylinder. The floor smells like antiseptic so I've got more germs than the speckled surface can spread in a day.
I've got a kitten at home and I wonder if he curls up in a ball like I do. I fold my socks this way too. I'm actually wearing paper knickers and that might explain why reason drops in for a cursory visit. Rat-a-tat-tat. Hello? I don't really like to bother you when you're like this but you do look kinda like two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun! When I get to adult nappies, then I might crank the handle at the side of my head and consider making a choice. You mean it's ok to read the Watchtower magazine and masturbate straight after?
The floor is cool, hard and under the bed I can see my bag and clothes. Who put them there? Hospital orderlies, bed maids, nurses or my daughter? Who makes up the face of this place apart from the rubbery one stuck to the floor at 2.00am? Me probably. I took a photo of my ginger kitten sitting in my food processor and then another after I blended pumpkin, carrots and potatoes. On the floor, in the middle of the night, I wish Pongo's rough tongue would lick me. Hey! Did you notice that? Feelings! Softly now, like the pink paw pads of his feet. Some parts of me are still here and can be salvaged. Any further bids on forty three? Forty three going once, going twice. Sold to the crumpled heap on the floor.
I'm telling you and you for that matter that I'm sick to death of travelling this road but it's a muddy left turn every time. Well, every two years maybe. But that doesn't change how I get here. Last time I think I wore a green skirt and brown top. This time, grey pant suit and matching jewellery. At least my dentures didn't smash and if I ever find it in me, I might smile to prove it. In the meantime I realise the connection between hospital prunes and Nazareth. Constipation and Love Hurts are an irony that crosses between multiple Argh! Jesus Mother of Christ teethclenching smiles and isn't life just a breeze?
Let me start at the beginning. Or are you going to tell me it's too late now? Somebody recognized me at work when I first arrived but, and I weep as I write this, I didn't know them. I mean, I did but how do I explain trying to push words out like I was giving birth to them? There! It's a boy! I don't know where the hell I am and I can't go on like this! Somebody kept asking me if I was alright but I loved them and said as much while I joined the dots about my mother owl necklace with the matching earrings.
You see, and this is the placenta of what I'm getting at, if you lay them on a table, flat, mind, it becomes a whole family. I'm the Mummy owl and you don't need to be a basket case to know that. My girls are the owlets. Isn't that as clear as the lapis lazuli that chingle as I walk? The mother owl bounces off my breasts, the lifeline for all things needing nourishment. I wish I could suckle a breast for comfort as I wait for the doctor but owlets hoot in my ears daily. That's my real job. Mummy, we need you always. Do you mean when it suits you though because I need to kill myself and I'd hate to upset your Friday night...
I'm joking. Honest. Can't you tell from the lines and grey hairs? The way my mouth slips downwards? It's alright my little chicks, I'm here - at home - at work - on some floor in a hospital
Owls are as wise as Mothers. Pills do funny things to brains, processed kittens and the ends of my fingers. I notice this revelation that flashes like a don't walk sign when no traffic is around. Why stand around and wait? I stare at the girl on the other side. Our eyes meet and we silently communicate that one of us is a safe player while the other will defy the pedestrian sign. I am that woman. The everyday nobody on the street that won't wait for green because its time to have a seizure. This won't be a good one though. They never are when they come out feet first. No anaesthetic and I yank it out with my bare hands screaming what possible purpose does it have anyway?
That is beside the point. Now, at Fremantle Hospital, in regulation green garb I can be who I want. I'm finally off the floor Ha! ha! You're definitely a long way off the floor now... Anyway, I decide I'm adult enough to smoke even though I don't. I'm approached by a doddery Professor Julius Sunder Miller look alike who persists in asking Why is this so? We all know he wishes he could don the black cap, bang his gavel and yell Silence in the court! I rock back and forth on the bed pan while he utters, All that live must die. This be your final reckoning.
I've had enough of the dramatis play and I just want the curtain to fall. I can't stomach wannabe Einsteins who seldom look up from their clipboard. I vomit on his shoes for good measure. Even I know we all need to get a taste of life at every possible level and it is the least I can do when he checks my knees with his reflex hammer. It's his placebo gavel so carrots will just have to speak for me while I can't. Here. Have some chunky tomatoes and coke zero too because that's all there is left of me on this day.
Dr Barlow's hands are gentle and I don't have to have an opinion if one isn't required. I'm not a vital part of societal machinery and I doubt the workshop that took me in will even stick a spark plug into my cylinder. The floor smells like antiseptic so I've got more germs than the speckled surface can spread in a day.
I've got a kitten at home and I wonder if he curls up in a ball like I do. I fold my socks this way too. I'm actually wearing paper knickers and that might explain why reason drops in for a cursory visit. Rat-a-tat-tat. Hello? I don't really like to bother you when you're like this but you do look kinda like two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun! When I get to adult nappies, then I might crank the handle at the side of my head and consider making a choice. You mean it's ok to read the Watchtower magazine and masturbate straight after?
The floor is cool, hard and under the bed I can see my bag and clothes. Who put them there? Hospital orderlies, bed maids, nurses or my daughter? Who makes up the face of this place apart from the rubbery one stuck to the floor at 2.00am? Me probably. I took a photo of my ginger kitten sitting in my food processor and then another after I blended pumpkin, carrots and potatoes. On the floor, in the middle of the night, I wish Pongo's rough tongue would lick me. Hey! Did you notice that? Feelings! Softly now, like the pink paw pads of his feet. Some parts of me are still here and can be salvaged. Any further bids on forty three? Forty three going once, going twice. Sold to the crumpled heap on the floor.
I'm telling you and you for that matter that I'm sick to death of travelling this road but it's a muddy left turn every time. Well, every two years maybe. But that doesn't change how I get here. Last time I think I wore a green skirt and brown top. This time, grey pant suit and matching jewellery. At least my dentures didn't smash and if I ever find it in me, I might smile to prove it. In the meantime I realise the connection between hospital prunes and Nazareth. Constipation and Love Hurts are an irony that crosses between multiple Argh! Jesus Mother of Christ teethclenching smiles and isn't life just a breeze?
Let me start at the beginning. Or are you going to tell me it's too late now? Somebody recognized me at work when I first arrived but, and I weep as I write this, I didn't know them. I mean, I did but how do I explain trying to push words out like I was giving birth to them? There! It's a boy! I don't know where the hell I am and I can't go on like this! Somebody kept asking me if I was alright but I loved them and said as much while I joined the dots about my mother owl necklace with the matching earrings.
You see, and this is the placenta of what I'm getting at, if you lay them on a table, flat, mind, it becomes a whole family. I'm the Mummy owl and you don't need to be a basket case to know that. My girls are the owlets. Isn't that as clear as the lapis lazuli that chingle as I walk? The mother owl bounces off my breasts, the lifeline for all things needing nourishment. I wish I could suckle a breast for comfort as I wait for the doctor but owlets hoot in my ears daily. That's my real job. Mummy, we need you always. Do you mean when it suits you though because I need to kill myself and I'd hate to upset your Friday night...
I'm joking. Honest. Can't you tell from the lines and grey hairs? The way my mouth slips downwards? It's alright my little chicks, I'm here - at home - at work - on some floor in a hospital
Owls are as wise as Mothers. Pills do funny things to brains, processed kittens and the ends of my fingers. I notice this revelation that flashes like a don't walk sign when no traffic is around. Why stand around and wait? I stare at the girl on the other side. Our eyes meet and we silently communicate that one of us is a safe player while the other will defy the pedestrian sign. I am that woman. The everyday nobody on the street that won't wait for green because its time to have a seizure. This won't be a good one though. They never are when they come out feet first. No anaesthetic and I yank it out with my bare hands screaming what possible purpose does it have anyway?
That is beside the point. Now, at Fremantle Hospital, in regulation green garb I can be who I want. I'm finally off the floor Ha! ha! You're definitely a long way off the floor now... Anyway, I decide I'm adult enough to smoke even though I don't. I'm approached by a doddery Professor Julius Sunder Miller look alike who persists in asking Why is this so? We all know he wishes he could don the black cap, bang his gavel and yell Silence in the court! I rock back and forth on the bed pan while he utters, All that live must die. This be your final reckoning.
I've had enough of the dramatis play and I just want the curtain to fall. I can't stomach wannabe Einsteins who seldom look up from their clipboard. I vomit on his shoes for good measure. Even I know we all need to get a taste of life at every possible level and it is the least I can do when he checks my knees with his reflex hammer. It's his placebo gavel so carrots will just have to speak for me while I can't. Here. Have some chunky tomatoes and coke zero too because that's all there is left of me on this day.