I was in Farmer Jack yesterday, picking up a dessert for a dinner at church, when I saw one of the guys who was in the hospital the same time as I was last September. It was… very strange to say the least. I pretended not to see him, didn’t want to have any contact. I enjoyed his company very much while we were in there, but I keep that whole event seperate in my mind. Not telling myself that it didn’t happen, but that it was a different place, a different world somewhere and for all I know those other patients aren’t even real… or they’re still sitting in there going through therapy sessions and being ‘checked on’ every 15 mintues and watching Raymond re-runs on ripped, vinyl couches. Saying ‘hi’ to him, or acknowledging him in anyway means that he’s real, and that I didn’t dream the whole thing up, and that someone knows that I was really there.
Yeah, that’s the scarey part. He knew I was there.
And of course it didn’t happen on a good day where I was smiling and chatty and ‘together’. I was stressed, rushed and groggy from a nap. I was irritable to the point of tears (this has been going on for a couple weeks now) and my face was wrinkled and pouty I’m sure. He probably thinks I haven’t improved one tiny bit. So his attempts to catch my gaze were ignored. He’s not there, I don’t see him.
The whole thing was (ready for a really deep word?)… weird.
But on a lighter note I got some good scrapping done this weekend.