I WANT POT!
Catman called yesterday asking me to bring his house money over to the nursing home in the Bronx. Litle did I know what an awful journey awaited me.
Audio: Koyaanisqatsi by Philip Glass
The place is hard to reach by subway. I had to take the BX12 crosstown to the Bx38 on a crowded ride down White Plains Road. I crossed two highways befroe I had to get off and find Underhill Avenue, which I discovered did not intersect with White Plains Rd. Then I followed the house numbers to an obscure building across from a McDonald's, like in the directions. There he met me in a whelchair, announcing that he'd called me some time after I left to say he was about to be transferred back to Mt. Sinai Hospital in Manhattan.
I rode with him in an ambullette (a van w/o the flashing lights) on the Bruckner Expressway at rush hour to a rap station, shunting onto Bruckner Blvd. half the trip. I disliked the Expressway but I hate Bruckner Blvd. The whole street is a set of back lots and freight doors for trucks and factory warehouses. It wasn't until we got to Spanish Harlem in Manhattan before I knew where we were.
Across 110th Street
We unloaded his whelchair, a walker and a plastic bag of his clothes at a big Amerikan hospital, up an elevator and through seveal anonymous transitory corridors. This was somewhere around shift change at 6PM. {*My Meditation time is from 6 to 9PM; this is usually me being religious.} I warned Catman about this but I stayed with him anyway. Checking him in took just that long; sitting in a modern waiting room with many chairs, two big TV screens--and a fluorescent ceiling. {Insert photomyoclonic rant AGAIN}. I hadn't seen regular TV news (CBS), or Entertainment Tonight in a long time. I had to angle my hand so that I could see the TV w/o the lights (not entirely possible). About half past The Big BANG THEORY, he was rolled to his room. Then I was misdirected by hospital personnel to the washroom.
Audio: The Division Bell by Pink Floyd
I was in a bad way. I got out of the building at 9:00. Across the street were two lunch vans, fluorescent-lit with big strobing signs for "FOOD" on top, across from a couple of ambulances with their lights still on. It took 15 minutes to get a burger & soda, which I ate in the dark until the M4 bus stopped. That trip was almost 100 blocks uptown, across 110th Street (here, Central Park North), through White Harlem, Washington Heights and past New York Presbyterian Hospital. For protection, I sat up front where the lighting was off, except when the front doors opened for passengers. This bus made almost every stop. No victory.
Home, I got to bed with the LED candles on. I'd reached my Exposure Limit and prayed the phone would not ring again. If it did and anybody wanted anything, see above title.
Notes to self:
1: NEVER get hospitalised.
2: The only cure for fluoreescent poisoning is cannabis. Never do without again. {I still do.}
May the blessings of Sacrament flow freely to us all.
Audio: Koyaanisqatsi by Philip Glass
The place is hard to reach by subway. I had to take the BX12 crosstown to the Bx38 on a crowded ride down White Plains Road. I crossed two highways befroe I had to get off and find Underhill Avenue, which I discovered did not intersect with White Plains Rd. Then I followed the house numbers to an obscure building across from a McDonald's, like in the directions. There he met me in a whelchair, announcing that he'd called me some time after I left to say he was about to be transferred back to Mt. Sinai Hospital in Manhattan.
I rode with him in an ambullette (a van w/o the flashing lights) on the Bruckner Expressway at rush hour to a rap station, shunting onto Bruckner Blvd. half the trip. I disliked the Expressway but I hate Bruckner Blvd. The whole street is a set of back lots and freight doors for trucks and factory warehouses. It wasn't until we got to Spanish Harlem in Manhattan before I knew where we were.
Across 110th Street
We unloaded his whelchair, a walker and a plastic bag of his clothes at a big Amerikan hospital, up an elevator and through seveal anonymous transitory corridors. This was somewhere around shift change at 6PM. {*My Meditation time is from 6 to 9PM; this is usually me being religious.} I warned Catman about this but I stayed with him anyway. Checking him in took just that long; sitting in a modern waiting room with many chairs, two big TV screens--and a fluorescent ceiling. {Insert photomyoclonic rant AGAIN}. I hadn't seen regular TV news (CBS), or Entertainment Tonight in a long time. I had to angle my hand so that I could see the TV w/o the lights (not entirely possible). About half past The Big BANG THEORY, he was rolled to his room. Then I was misdirected by hospital personnel to the washroom.
Audio: The Division Bell by Pink Floyd
I was in a bad way. I got out of the building at 9:00. Across the street were two lunch vans, fluorescent-lit with big strobing signs for "FOOD" on top, across from a couple of ambulances with their lights still on. It took 15 minutes to get a burger & soda, which I ate in the dark until the M4 bus stopped. That trip was almost 100 blocks uptown, across 110th Street (here, Central Park North), through White Harlem, Washington Heights and past New York Presbyterian Hospital. For protection, I sat up front where the lighting was off, except when the front doors opened for passengers. This bus made almost every stop. No victory.
Home, I got to bed with the LED candles on. I'd reached my Exposure Limit and prayed the phone would not ring again. If it did and anybody wanted anything, see above title.
Notes to self:
1: NEVER get hospitalised.
2: The only cure for fluoreescent poisoning is cannabis. Never do without again. {I still do.}
May the blessings of Sacrament flow freely to us all.