Freetime.

Seasonal Influenza"I don't know what the big deal is," She said, watching it snow through the ground level window, dressed in her hospital issued white scrubs. She sat in my office, in the hard chair in front of my desk. Knees bent, orange slippers pulled as close to her ass as human anatomy would allow. Her long brown hair, greasy and nappy, stayed where it was pushed to - out of her face. "Out of sight, out of mind" I wrote in the notebook that sat in front of me. I looked up quickly, my glasses slipping a little more down my nose and she was still watching that window. Her face was drained of any color - any life - and that was the reason she was here. She just didn't care and her parents were tired of dealing with her. "Attitude towards life reflects attitude of parents" I wrote."Let's talk about why you're here," I broke the silence. "Do you know why you're here Stacey?""Yes," the jerk of her head straight towards my eyes made her hair fall in her face. "It's like girl fucking interrupted. I'm not crazy like those psychos but I'm not conservative enough to fit into my parent's life." She didn't bother to move the hair in her face. The last thing any type of doctor wants is resistance from the patient. Patients have to let you examine that puffy, pain inflicting arm before they can tell you it's broken, before it's set for a cast, before it's healed. I tapped my pen a bit, realizing what any teenager wants to hear. "Do you know what the word dramatic means?" I asked her, folding my glasses and putting them on the desk. "I'm not being dramatic," She said in her best spoiled little whore voice. "No, but I think your mother is," her facial structure softened as I said this. "And your father does nothing but carry on her charade." I leaned back, throwing the pen on the desk. My arms stretched out behind my head, as if I could relax during our hour together. As if she required no psychotic work at all. As if I wasn't remotely worried that she was going to slip through the cracks in the sidewalks. As if the kids are alright, after all. "You don't think I should be here?" Her voice very much child-like now. I leaned forward with my elbows on my desk and looked toward my office door as if I was getting ready to tell her a secret. "You're not eating glue are you?" I asked, squinting my nose. Finally a smile, even if only for a second and directed to whatever dust bunnies the janitors had forgotten that were on the floor. It was a start & when it lasted for longer than a second into my face, she would be ready to go home. "Why don't you excuse yourself and go on back to your room. I'll see you on Thursday." I put my glasses back on and grabbed my pen. I didn't look up until after I heard her close my door. "Mother states suicidal tendencies, moodswings, thought to be promiscuous, drug use including narcotics." I read what was wrote on her commitment papers into Elmore Psychiatric. My notes would go into the same manila file folder, the identical file folders that fill the file cabinets. Just another name on the tab, this one marked Stacey. Under evaluation I began to write: " immediate signs of BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER. Signs of depression to be later diagnosed. Recommended for further evaluation. Meds not yet prescribed. Date: 1/6"__Even though I could buy my own home, I hadn't. I still lived in an apartment like I had through out all of college and through out all of my life, actually. The noise level and neighbors didn't bother me and if it did then I always rented month to month anyway. Even when I couldn't rent month to month, the lease was never longer than a year. Sam didn't really care for the moving, which is the only reason it bothered me. My little Samantha, if I could diagnose her she would surely have ocd. She didnt' respond to change well. The minute I seen her I knew I had to have her & she was basically begging to be taken away from the place I found her in anyway. Perfect green eyes. I later found out she required little attention but was also very playful and affectionate. She was perfect company. My hair, which I kept longer than most in my profession, kept her captivated. She would never complain if I need to shave, as most females do, and my face is normally scruffy. My physical appearance screamed a semi-reclusive newly college graduate who painfully had to give up his dreams of being a rockstar, cowboy, or the next Geraldo Rivera. My eyebrows often drawn together by a scrowl above my shady eyes, sandy blonde hair unbrushed... always in the way. I looked like I could be one of my own patients."Samantha," I cooed as I came into the kitchen. I found her sitting on the counter, barely acknowledging me as I came in. She meowed and brushed against my arms as I reached for the can opener to open her food. "Tonight, Sam, we're eating fish," I said and ran a hand through her silky black coat. But it didn't really matter what I said. It was all just Blah, Blah, Blah. Nobody cares about the equation, they just want to see the results. Feed Cat. Microwavable dinner or take-out. Fall asleep in front of the television. Feet propped. Loose Tie and Unzipped pants.Wake up around 1 a.m. Turn off T.v. and step out of your pants. Go to the bathroom, leaving the light off. You live by yourself and nobody cares if you miss the toilet, hold yourself up with the wall to your left because you are tired from talking to psychos all day and learning to fix them. You can barely open your eyes as you finish undressing and climb into your $1,200 bed you ordered one night when you couldn't sleep from 1-800-sleep2niteIt is your best investment yet.