Ode to Kurt 2

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
Continuation about the respite hall. Ever wonder what happens when people get sent to mental institutions? Ode to Kurt is a refreshing first person narrative about the on goings of the "respite hall." A place that for some is more heaven than the hell people make it out to be. How that rest, can help change a persons life and bring about a few laughs at the same time.

Submitted: August 19, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 19, 2012



Of course there would be moments like today that make me visualize why I need this respite. Somehow, not all the people are nice people.

No matter how many ‘Thank you madam’s’ and ‘excuse me please’ you will still have vindictive lunch ladies who refuse to give you and extra piece of chicken. “Why, are you watching what I give everyone else?” She stood in her Barney colored scrubs with dirty gloves on her hand challenging me to say that I wasn’t watching what she had given everyone else. “Yes. I saw you. You gave everybody two or more pieces but me.” A Clickity clack that stood beside her seemed surprised that I said something. But I stood there. Wondering if this was all my respite was cracked up to be. Twenty three minutes later, I got my extra piece of chicken. Chicken cant be the reason why I need a break. Perhaps its those innate reactions that involuntarily show themselves at inopportune moments. Perhaps it’s a level of expectation. For today I had them. Even though I lied to myself and said I wouldn’t. Stupidly, I depended on someone to make me happy. I reveled in the idea that someone else would get joy by looking at my face. I thought they would come or he would come and that’s something I have that the swallows don’t: expectations. How can you live your life not expecting anything to come? But still life continues outside my room. Mary sleeps with the light on, and laughter can be heard down the hall. Frequently others would say “Tawanna, why are you so down?” I think that what makes this respite all important. Although swallows have not a care in the world , and to the people with walk with their Clickity clackity shoes and disregard your need for sleep and respect: visual awareness and soma is available. I try not to take more soma than is offered for fear this hall might become my permanent home.

Comparing the virtual freedom and happiness I have or hope to attain to that of a swallow is spiritual. While the creature is able to expand its wings and fight over which mate to have, I have calm and continuity.

Mary who was afore mentioned woke up this morning to the sound of someone to take her blood sugar. I lay there baking while shivering with beads of sweat rolling down my face. “Good Mary, your blood sugar s down” I’m sure Mary was grateful that someone was there to monitor her every vital change. Yet I still lay there. No one ever come to check my glucose level or wonder why I’m dripping salienated body flavored drops onto my pillow case. As a day begins again, a cyclic process that brings calm to the mentally instable here in the respite hall one looks for nothing because everything is given.

Why am I here? I’ve asked this question before, knowing that I am better off than a small mammal who creeps close to my window pane—pecking on the glass. No silly saying to add, just an introspective look at my own self pity. The need be loved. The mental pledges to tell him, “If you really loved me, you’d be here” the need to have someone take care of me and be around for more than a second. And yes it is true, a life time is a long time to ask for. Do I really need to be amongst strangers in order to be loved? For me love or pathos is the strongest element a person can personally own. I own all the love within me and I somehow find the time to sprinkle it out amongst unworthy degenerates thinking the same would be reciprocated.

Love is valuable because it belongs within illogical box that doesn’t have rules. No one is there to tell you when love is real or whom you actually love…it’s too person specific.

So I crave love. With the same fever that a Vampire craves blood. Both are symbolized by the color red and are…

But it’s hard to continue the thought of why I am here because the music of the respite hall grows and grows.

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