The difference between crazy and Crazy

Hey Kids

I’m sure NONE of you will be shocked to hear that I see a shrink.  And will be un-floored even more to hear that my shrink’s office is in a psychiatric hospital, not a business high rise with a a nice waiting room and day sofa, an in-patient psychiatric hospital fully equipped with padded walls and straight jackets.

There is one tiny office where the head of the hospital sees out patients on a casual basis.  I believe that casual basis involves me and two other people.  I feel special….in both the good and bad way.    His office is on the top floor, right outside two large metal doors that you need a special ID and finger print to get into.  I can only assume it’s where they keep the serious crazies.   Sometimes being on the floor of this building makes me feel normal and pulled together.  It reminds me to snap out of it cause, no matter how big my mother issues are, theirs are probably worse.  Other times I feel a mere hop, skip, and jump away from loony…literally.

It took me a while to be comfortable with a doctor of this caliber listening to me bitch about how hard it is to be an actress when a mere 20 yards away some lady is having full blown conversations with her dead cat, but eventually I convinced myself that he enjoyed a break from the schizos and psychos. This is me assuming that spending an entire hour talking about eliminating red meat from my diet is a break from the psychos.

So, besides me and the two other “casual basis” peeps, everyone at the hospital is either a patient or works there.  Naturally when I’m seen by other employees walking around without a hospital gown covered in paste, they assume I’m one of them.   You should see their f-ing faces when I tell them otherwise!  HAHA.

Today I came out of the office and was waiting for the elevator.  Some hot shot male nurse eyed me ( I’m attractive, btw.  I know I don’t always make that clear) and I could tell he was waiting to make his move.  Finally, just before the doors open he goes, “Hey….so you just start working here?”

“No,” I go.  ”I don’t work here”

“YET… you don’t work here yet.  Interviewing for a job?”

“No, definitely not interviewing for a job.”  Then I kind of chuckled in a sinister way.

“Oh.”  He looked concerned and then I laid it on him.

“I just got out.”

His face went ashen just as the doors opened and we stepped into the elevator.  He looked like he’d finally realized I was Dexter or something.  I just stood in the corner and practiced this acting technique I’d learned the week before where you stare at something but think of something else and mumble.  It’s suppose to make you look possessed.

It worked.

That guy bolted as soon as the doors opened.  I don’t even think it was his floor.

That’ll teach him to hit on newbies.



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