(no subject)
So there I found myself, signing into the psychiatric ward - a thing I was convinced could only serve to amplify the depression. I was fitted with my straight-jacket which I was pleasantly surprised to find was a stunning replica of Xena's attire and fit quite snugly. The staff had planned ahead and outfitted mine with a strap which, when tightened, shortened my legs and made escape attempts equal parts frustrating and comical. Escaping, however, turned out to be unecessary as the ward had just adopted the policy where anyone was free to leave so long as they didn't mind having to wear their straight-jacket. Well, I took the opportunity to stump my way to the park, of course, and walk along the river.
Normally I enjoy walks in the rain but it was cold and my Xena-jacket wasn't providing much protection. Luckily I came across a heavy concrete door set in a hill along the river which naturally yielded to some pulling and stumping. In the light of a naked yellow bulb hanging from the middle of a small crypt-like room, dust motes rose up to greet me. I pushed past them to a metal ladder which seemed like the viny extension of a growth of rust that had colonized a good potion of the ledge.
At the bottom, barely visible in the light filtering down from above, was a pair of fishing poles leaning against a crate. Every few seconds I'd notice a piece of angling gear I was sure hadn't been there before. In accordance with my fear of spontaneous sports equipment generation I returned to the upper level to watch the rain out the door.
The whole ordeal left me hungry so I went to pilfer egg salad from the church picnic further down the river. Clearly, the lesson to be learned from all of this is I need more fiber in my diet.
Normally I enjoy walks in the rain but it was cold and my Xena-jacket wasn't providing much protection. Luckily I came across a heavy concrete door set in a hill along the river which naturally yielded to some pulling and stumping. In the light of a naked yellow bulb hanging from the middle of a small crypt-like room, dust motes rose up to greet me. I pushed past them to a metal ladder which seemed like the viny extension of a growth of rust that had colonized a good potion of the ledge.
At the bottom, barely visible in the light filtering down from above, was a pair of fishing poles leaning against a crate. Every few seconds I'd notice a piece of angling gear I was sure hadn't been there before. In accordance with my fear of spontaneous sports equipment generation I returned to the upper level to watch the rain out the door.
The whole ordeal left me hungry so I went to pilfer egg salad from the church picnic further down the river. Clearly, the lesson to be learned from all of this is I need more fiber in my diet.