2:37 a.m. - Wednesday, Feb. 06, 2002
Ms Leslie us the Sanest Person in the Room
Today should be an easy day. I justneed to do some grocery shopping and then go to Occupational Therapy in the afternoon.
OT is great. I go there and sit for an hour and a half among the truly crazy vets, chatting with the two female OT techs and making little crafts projects. The techs give me tips on hair care and fashion as well as those sometimes overlooked bits of etiquette like remembering to pull my skirt out of the crack of my ass when I stand up. They've turned me into a regular Matt Dillon when it comes to the art of the quick draw. They wait patiently until it looks like I might get out of my chair. Within milliseconds of lift-off, they are both screaming, "Pull your Dress!!". Between my exaggerated startle reflex from the PTSD and my desire to be a proper lady, I never know whether to pull my skirt or dive underneath it.
I just need to ask them to stop calling me 'he'. I mean, here I am.. I have my nails done every week, hair too. I am sitting there in a pretty jumper and sandals, with just enough makeup to even out my face. I've got on earrings and I'm carrying a purse. It should be apparant to just about anyone that I have gone to no small trouble to present myself as a woman. We are chatting like women. They are telling me things that a woman would only tell another. And then, when they introduce me to the newest crazy vet, they say "This is Leslie. HE comes here on Mondays and Wednesdays too". AAARGH!!
The vets don't care. They are pretty well focused on their own inner worlds anyway. Some sedated into zombie vets, others occasionally swatting at the flies their medicine makes them see. I am a little bit jealous. I'm not the strangest sight THEY have ever seen. I suppose whenever one of the vets notices me and starts looking at me as if I am an oddity, they snatch him away, give him a certificate of sanity and discharge him.
OK.. I don't mean to make fun or treat these guys lightly. They are all sweet. I feel bad for them. Their lives are pretty broken. They deserve better. It's really a shame. There are some I would like to know better, but they just aren't in a place where socializing is much of an option.
I am the sanest person in the room. How sad is that?
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