the floor of an aluminum boat

Finally, it is necessary to take the medication.

First, nothing.  Then, walking somewhere between Alex’s office and mine – 20 feet – the vision doubles and blurs, the arms seeming to stretch to the floor with the weight of an anvil in each hand.

If I don’t go to the Health Room, April will send a police escort.  So I go.  I draw the hospital curtain and make a cocoon.

The crinkly paper under my ear, the softest blanket.  I wouldn’t have thought the softest blanket would be in the Health Room at my workplace.

Something explodes in my head.  I listen to the noise of the room.  I do not know where the noise comes from.  It sounds … maybe like a plane.  A feeling of suspension.  And I am going to sleep on the floor of an aluminum boat.

What do you think?

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