Compost Studios

When last we left our hero, he was still in a doctor’s coat, face mask, and nasty latex gloves, confined to a windowless room with bright lights, nervous patients, and assistants waiting for a weekend.

He wonders what day it is--and where he is. Tyson's? Richmond ? Alexandria ? Norfolk ? Maybe he's home asleep and dreaming about work. No, no, no, that can’t be right. He's at work and dreaming about home.

He tries to recall what he had for breakfast. He tries to recall where he WAS for breakfast. Or was lunch his last meal? He's not sure. And what's that thing called that comes between last patient of the day and first patient call-back in the evening--the one he eats in the car while driving north, no south, no north, on I-95? Sometimes they serve it on a plane too. It's the one you're supposed to eat with your family. At least they do on television. Whatever.

But the eating thing is important--he learned that in medical school. That was first year--right? Or was that second year? Oh well. His pants are hanging on his hipbones. He's glad the white coat covers it. Makes mental note: eat next meal, make it healthy, whenever and wherever it comes. Also, tighten belt.

He vaguely recalls buying a mattress a while back. He was with what’s-her-name, the brunette with the big brown eyes, the girl who shares his mattress--oh God, that's right, she's the one he exchanged wedding rings with, back in, when was that? Winter? Spring? A year ago? Less? Hmmmm. It was another windowless room. Another long day. But no latex gloves because she put the ring on his finger—he remembers that. Just can't place the date, month, season, whatever. Damn, he has to ask the receptionist about it so he can get it into his Palm Pilot and have the receptionist send roses to that girl, what's-her-name, ummmm, the really, really great one, can't believe the name is slipping away. Oh yeah--Lisa. Lisa, that's it. Lisa the Mattress Shopper. Lisa the Mattress Sharer. Lisa his Wife.

He has GOT to remember to talk to her more often. Must remember to roll over and see if she's still on the mattress—they did deliver that mattress right? Or does he crash on the old mattress? Or the sofa? Is Lisa mad at him? Whatever. He can check the shower stall for Lisa’s shampoo, and see if that closet on the other side of the bedroom still has her clothes in it.

Soon. He'll get to it. He's sure of it. One of these days he'll find his way home and sleep off the stupor he's in. And if he's lucky, he'll get a whole day off. Any day. Wherever. Whenever. Whatever. Windows or not. Food optional. Mattress mandatory. Hope Lisa will share it.

November 4, 2005