Of crash carts and more..

2.00 pm  a hot scorching Wednesday afternoon

A visit to the Clinical Pharmacology unit: Twenty odd crash carts stacked in one corner of a spotlessly white room.

All the while I wonder, to what extent could, standing in a room where the floors, curtains, walls and sheets – all spot-fucking-less white mess around with your head.

I’ve been spending my days trying to understand and make sense. I also very sincerely try to keep myself from being appalling, vile and second rate.

And as I enter into this phase of my life where I’ve gotten around to feeling largely irresponsible for myself, I can’t help but look around for crash carts.

You have friends and lovers, but do you have crash carts? I think we’d all better start looking..

I sometimes cannot talk to a person without a voice screaming ‘Would you be my crash cart?’ in my head.

On the other hand NOW is when I am ready to say I’ve finally moved in.

With a David Foster Wallace on my bed and a Radiohead on my wall and a flurry of post its finding their way on the doors and cupboards and bathroom walls- I am finally home.

The poster on my wall says:

Fond but not in love

Still kisses with saliva.