I'm bleeding from the eyes for wanting to go camping so bad, but how does one tear oneself away from a city hosting such major events as the Corndog Festival, or the sister city of Fort Worth's Colon Cleansing Vegan Chili Cookoff both in one weekend?

My brainwaves are running steady and flat today. I've been over-indulging myself lately, so I needed a bit of soma to get me back into reemission.
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Old people eating lunch in soft white plastic bibs, and I want to touch everything as a dare for myself. Their exposed toe nails are crusty and shapeless, the dark bony joints of their fingers jet off into different directions, and that smell... Not the smell of wet diapers, of bloody sheets, of hospital food, or sweaty wrinkled thighs...It's so...Unfamiliar...but distinct to these places. The smell doesn't scrub off of visitors in just one shower or two. It clings to your frontal lobe where the water won't rinse.

Kay, the woman I met on Sunday, parks her scooter just in front of the staff entrance and waits for someone to open the door so that she can get a breath of fresh air. She tells me she doesn't know how long she has, only God does, and then she cries a little bit. I don't know what she is wishing for.

Since then I've felt like taking long strided walks, and getting out of the city. I feel like cleaning the lint out of my toes and belly button, and looking around closely at stuff. I think it's good for me to check out that residence every once in while- accustom myself to looking at old faces so I don't wake up one day freaking out on that one. The residents think that I'm sweet and an idiot at the same time, because I'm interested in listening to their stories and because I put up with them never hearing a word I say.

I've been to jail before and wished for the mercy of change. The waiting is the worst part: you just want to know what time it is. How much longer. You can take anything if you know how long it will last.
Like Kay's texas colloquialism: It's longer than a wet week.

She didn't show me the 2nd and 5th floor which is what I specifically wanted to see: the Alzheimer's Ward. Maybe she thought that she could lure me back in to see her because she saw I was a voyeur. I didn't get to see the third floor either. I got the feeling that she didn't want me to ever have to see the third floor. Right now, I have the soul I want to have for my first visit to that floor, so that when I land in the bed there, I know how people that come into my room are feeling me.