Sunday, October 12, 2014
On a related note, I bring in my old scrubs for the patients to wear. Most have no clothes when they are picked up on the street.
Linette talks about her dreams of the prior night, which usually involve bad things happening to her family. I am not sure if they were dreams or acid trips. A ringing phone or even a television blip about A Developing Story will put her into a panic. For the record, she has had to leave work many times to pick up her children from the police station. So these scenarios about her son getting stabbed or her daughter getting kidnapped could really happen.
A few months ago, when she was probably high from smoking something, Linette babbled on and on about a party she would be throwing for her birthday/anniversary/some holiday I had never heard of. She insisted I would be invited. Please no. I don't want to go and I don't know how to get out of it without setting off Psycho Linette.
Every few days, Linette mentions this future party. The reason for the party has been expanded to include the completion of Linette's book, she informed me today. What? She's not capable of writing her own name, nevermind a sentence, a paragraph, a coherent thought, or a bunch of coherent thoughts strung together to form a book!
This is going to be good, I thought, and asked if it was fiction or non-fiction.
This question puzzled Linette. After a moment, she replied, "It's more like a memoir. Of my life. Cause I have been through so much."
I said that I couldn't wait to see it. Reading her creation would be too far-reaching a characterization.
If she actually conveys the rambles of her mind into print, that would be some incredible stuff.