It's never a good thing when you actually start to understand where your psych patients are "coming from". I feel pretty good about anticipating their next move, preparing myself for outbursts/physical violence etc., but seriously. When I start to actually "get it", things get a little weird.
Which is why I am going to treat myself to a Martini this evening. When I wake up. Because I haven't gone to sleep yet...
I am no stranger to the crazy ramblings of anyone, really, let alone patients. I'm sure that I, myself, have even been viewed as a total raging lunatic from time to time. Like the ol' Mr. Roboto night at karaoke where I not only drank my weight in vodka cranberries, but then proceeded to dance the robot onstage, while singing, only to fall over on the stage, while singing, and proceed to do what I like to call "the floor robot" for a good three minutes or so (it didn't seem that long at the time). Styx would have been proud, I like to think.
I'm no Jim Morrison.
I do enjoy a good karaoke party though. Which is why I will be returning to that fateful place on Saturday to reclaim what is mine (my dignity). This time, like other times before, I will not succumb to the power of The Drink (well maybe a little, but nothing like Styx night). I will sing a catchy tune, a great karaoke song. Something that a normal person might sing. I will not embarrass myself by screaming "MY BLOOD IS BOILING-MY BRAIN IBM!!!" into the microphone while doing the "floor robot". My date will not peer at me anxiously while simultaneously checking his watch because I will be classy as fuck. I mean, as hell. fuck.
Get it? Bottom line: I have been awake for almost 24 hours, and am becomming delusional, having flashbacks to other times of great delusion. And by great delusion, I mean sexy, sexy robotic dance moves.
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