Status: Work in progress. Updated sporadically. Don't expect fast updates.
Mad Like Me
March 31
March 31
confine-from Latin “confinium” from com – with and finis – an end
I’ve been here exactly five hours and it’s already hell. They’ve made me take off all my clothes and jewelry and put on this disgusting pink hospital-style outfit. I look like a freaking dental hygienist. They said that my black clothes and spiked choker “might give the other patients the wrong idea” and “don’t worry because everyone is wearing the same thing”. Yeah, I get it. They’re already treating me like an animal, like I’m no different than anyone else here. Whereas I am different, because unlike them, I don’t belong here.
They’ve got me cooped up in this tiny room with two sets of bunk beds, a dresser, one lamp, and not much else. I’ve been told to wait for my roommates since they should be coming back from lunch any minute now. They’re going to be “patients with similar problems to you.” Sounds very promising. Because obviously one loony per room isn’t enough, now I’m going to have two others screaming and crying through the night. Fun.
Oh, crap, they just walked in. And one looks like a real
Okay, let me explain earlier. These two girls walk in, one tall and gangly, the other short and wiry. The tall one is named Willow, and the short one is named Luna. As in lunatic, she told me, which seems like an apt description. She talks in a formal tone, and has a British accent that I’m still not sure is real. So far she’s been totally off the wall, shooting rapid-fire questions at me.
“Where are you from? What’s your favorite food? Do you like punching things? I like punching things. Especially people. What’s your favorite color? You’re no fun. I’m bored. I’m going to sing now.”
Luna’s been singing Beatles songs for the past twenty minutes and I feel like ripping my ears off. Beatles songs are terrible enough when someone with talent is singing them. But she sounds like a screeching cat. Willow, on the other hand, has been glaring at me and has not said a word since she walked in. Oh, now she’s lying facedown on her bunk bed. And she just told Luna to shut up.
“Why would I do such a thing?” Luna replied. “I’m perfectly enjoying myself singing, thank you very much. And I wouldn’t be enjoying myself by shutting up.
“But we’re not enjoying ourselves!” I cried. “You sound terrible.”
“Maybe to you, but I believe it sounds good. And if you believe something hard enough, then it’s just as good as if it were so. At least, to you.”
I just stared at her, uncomprehending. She sighed.
“But if you don’t like it, I won’t sing. For now. First impressions and all that.”
Now she’s lying on her bed, the bunk above Willow, and is drumming her fingers against the bedpost. She was doing the same thing while she was singing, except her fingers moved against her thigh instead of the aging wood of the bed. Probably some tic or something. Maybe she has Tourette’s. It’s definitely not normal. Paranormal, in fact, which doesn’t mean freaky and monsterish like most people think. Para can mean against or beside. And Luna is certainly against normal.
Maybe I should explain this now. I’m fascinated by words – their origins, their meanings, how they evolve over time. So sometimes I go off on tangents. Ignore it.
It’s eight o clock, according to the clock on the wall, which is guarded by bars so we can’t smash it. Already I’m tired, though I doubt I’ll get a good night’s sleep. An unfamiliar place could be full of all sorts of beasties. No. I’m supposed to stop thinking like that. There are no monsters, no spiders, no zombies.
Still, I’ll keep the light on. Just in case.
confine-from Latin “confinium” from com – with and finis – an end
I’ve been here exactly five hours and it’s already hell. They’ve made me take off all my clothes and jewelry and put on this disgusting pink hospital-style outfit. I look like a freaking dental hygienist. They said that my black clothes and spiked choker “might give the other patients the wrong idea” and “don’t worry because everyone is wearing the same thing”. Yeah, I get it. They’re already treating me like an animal, like I’m no different than anyone else here. Whereas I am different, because unlike them, I don’t belong here.
They’ve got me cooped up in this tiny room with two sets of bunk beds, a dresser, one lamp, and not much else. I’ve been told to wait for my roommates since they should be coming back from lunch any minute now. They’re going to be “patients with similar problems to you.” Sounds very promising. Because obviously one loony per room isn’t enough, now I’m going to have two others screaming and crying through the night. Fun.
Oh, crap, they just walked in. And one looks like a real
Okay, let me explain earlier. These two girls walk in, one tall and gangly, the other short and wiry. The tall one is named Willow, and the short one is named Luna. As in lunatic, she told me, which seems like an apt description. She talks in a formal tone, and has a British accent that I’m still not sure is real. So far she’s been totally off the wall, shooting rapid-fire questions at me.
“Where are you from? What’s your favorite food? Do you like punching things? I like punching things. Especially people. What’s your favorite color? You’re no fun. I’m bored. I’m going to sing now.”
Luna’s been singing Beatles songs for the past twenty minutes and I feel like ripping my ears off. Beatles songs are terrible enough when someone with talent is singing them. But she sounds like a screeching cat. Willow, on the other hand, has been glaring at me and has not said a word since she walked in. Oh, now she’s lying facedown on her bunk bed. And she just told Luna to shut up.
“Why would I do such a thing?” Luna replied. “I’m perfectly enjoying myself singing, thank you very much. And I wouldn’t be enjoying myself by shutting up.
“But we’re not enjoying ourselves!” I cried. “You sound terrible.”
“Maybe to you, but I believe it sounds good. And if you believe something hard enough, then it’s just as good as if it were so. At least, to you.”
I just stared at her, uncomprehending. She sighed.
“But if you don’t like it, I won’t sing. For now. First impressions and all that.”
Now she’s lying on her bed, the bunk above Willow, and is drumming her fingers against the bedpost. She was doing the same thing while she was singing, except her fingers moved against her thigh instead of the aging wood of the bed. Probably some tic or something. Maybe she has Tourette’s. It’s definitely not normal. Paranormal, in fact, which doesn’t mean freaky and monsterish like most people think. Para can mean against or beside. And Luna is certainly against normal.
Maybe I should explain this now. I’m fascinated by words – their origins, their meanings, how they evolve over time. So sometimes I go off on tangents. Ignore it.
It’s eight o clock, according to the clock on the wall, which is guarded by bars so we can’t smash it. Already I’m tired, though I doubt I’ll get a good night’s sleep. An unfamiliar place could be full of all sorts of beasties. No. I’m supposed to stop thinking like that. There are no monsters, no spiders, no zombies.
Still, I’ll keep the light on. Just in case.