Murder In The Sun Room

I accidentally double dosed my melatonin last night. What a ride. I dreamt in 3d about my stay at the VA Rehab in Bedford Ma.

Things came up I absolutely forgot about. About how I would get reprimanded for not using my walker. A walker? Me?

About the big guy behind me who quickly slipped my belt off of me as soon as I signed that paper.

About when I asked if I could shave, I had to have someone watching me who would take the razor from my hand on my last stroke.

About all the times I was asked if I felt suicidal. I would say, “No, but if you ask me again.”

About that flashlight in my face all night long every hour on the hour.

And that goddam endless screaming almost drove me bat shit.

About that dangerous guy in the next bunk who would sit cross-legged on his bed and stare at me while mumbling incoherently.

About that ambulance ride over to Dedham to get a cranial CT because of all the falls I had taken while under the influence of xanax and Chardonnay. Forgot about that.

About that crusty old female psychiatrist who laughed in my face when I told her I was a U.S. citizen and they couldn’t hold me against my will.

About how she told me if they released me, I could stroke out on their sidewalk. How she went into gory detail about my “hot liver.”

About how we would line up in front of the pharmacy window at 5:00 am for our morning doses of who knows what. I remember it had a soothing effect so I would quickly slip it into my top pajama pocket and double or triple dose on it later. It made for a nice, blurry afternoon.

I also remember worrying about someone’s passive aggressive tendencies now that I was among the walking wounded. You never really knew where you stood with her until there was an altercation. Then she would unload. She was in charge now by default. My worries were not unfounded.

Then, in my deep dream state, it all came back about the sun room where they would plop us down after lunch. A dozen or so vets from campaigns over the last 50 years, free to reminisce until dinner.

That sun room, where all the horrors of war were discussed in detail. Too much detail. It was wheelchairs in a circle like wagons. Everything but the marshmallows.

I now remember the young kids with with more notches on their belt than Billy the Kid. How are they gonna deal with that when the get my age?

It went on every day. For hours. Horrible. No wonder I blocked it.

It was so real and surreal.

Really, you gotta watch that melatonin stuff.

Please note: I welcome comments that are offensive, illogical or off-topic from readers in all states of consciousness.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.