Institutional Living

I’m so accustomed to institutional living. Whenever I get a visitor to come see me, I’m on a lark all day long with anticipation! It’s not like I’m in some horrible nightmare of an institution or anything. I’ve been in a lot of state hospitals and psych wards over my lifetime. Those places can sometimes be really rough on a person’s feelings. It’s just tough to get out, since I don’t drive anymore. I’m always waiting to get a ride to wherever.

This place where I’m living now is a really nice, cozy, assisted living place. It helps me out to be here, because the institution covers all my special needs, within a reasonable budget. I’m really enjoying being here. I’m really enjoying getting out a few minutes, too. We took a ride up over the bridge, and the place was different than we expected.

(Every now and then the dining room here at assisted living kind of freaks me out. More than a hundred people sit around, eat, and talk, and I’ve been known to get a little edgy. There actually is a syndrome that causes that, almost like agoraphobia. I get overwhelmed by the volume of sound in our dining room. I mostly spend quiet days in my own suite.)

Anyway, my friend and I were going out to a meeting of the program tonight, to a place where I haven’t been in about a year. We found the place easily enough, but the meeting has been permanently discontinued months ago. We hadn’t gotten the word. So, after we got the word from the church people who were there for other purposes, we just came over to my place for awhile. Nothing like having a place to go. My friend went into the grocery store to get me my sodas before we headed down the road. Then, he carried them to my room.

My friend is an active guitar player, and really liked trying out my axe. I’m always hearing him talking about playing, so I acquiesced when he wanted to play my new guitar. I don’t mind. He’s a nice, civilized kind of guy, I have a brand new Ibanez hollow body electric with nylon strings. My friend is a good musician, and really enjoyed playing my new guitar. I really enjoyed listening to him play a few minutes, too. He said the action is like spreading butter. It’s one sweet little guitar.

My friend’s truck rides kind of high up off the road. He had to help me get in, because my legs aren’t strong enough to get me up into the seat on my own, ever since I’ve been recovering from hip surgery. He says he has a hip replacement too, so he’s really sympathetic to my disability.

Another one of my friends wanted to come over and record me, but I’m really not ready for that quite yet. I haven’t really played in about four and a half years, as things stand at the moment. But the first friend and the second one are helping me to reconsider getting my skill back. This other guy said he could run a feed from my internal electrical hookup straight into his recorder without an amp. Wow! I can’t wait to try that. Same guy offered to give me info on where to get recording equipment, and info on publishing outlets on the web. And all I want to do is write words all the time!?!

I must be out of my mind.

I’m all turned on at the idea of everything about this evening, and I ought to be taking my meds and winding down, but I still feel like writing. Well, maybe not…

 

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About geostan51

I'm a wordsmith and a craftsman. I've been known to hand crochet just about anything escept granny squares. I've got about twenty titles in my name on the Kindle Store at Amazon.com.
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