The staff are busy bustling about their jobs. With no stimuli, the workers become the watched. Visitors waiting listen to snippets of conversations; a half diagnosis, an enquiry about the family, last night’s entertainment.
Coloured uniforms denote levels of qualification and roles within the ward. A judgemental rainbow of knowledge and skills attainment. Soft soled shoes and piercing repeating beeps form the backdrop of the scene.
Visitors unfocus their eyes to reduce the embarrassment of being caught staring. The smell of hand sanitizer tingles the nostrils with its sharp smell; prevalent and underlying, a sense reminder of the situation.
Cardboard sick bowls form a Jenga stack. Curved recycled receptacles with measurements on the inside – calculating the outpouring of human fluids. Blue flimsy curtains, barley a screen of privacy and certainly not of sound, hang limply from plastic ties that refuse to glide.
Skintact sheets and waffle weave blankets.
Diamond patterns on wash-worn gowns, origami straps.
Pale skin – starkly white against the pastel shades of calming green.
Dark shadows below exhausted eyes.
I suffer from, or maybe a better term “experience”, a lot of bizarre thoughts just before I fall asleep. I wish I could harness these thoughts and ideas as they are curious, intriguing, bewitching and enlightening. However – to record them would perhaps entail a level of conscious action that would negatively impact on the ideas themselves.
I retain a certain amount of the thought the next day – but like a dream it is tantalisingly lost in a mist of uncertainty. I can try to fill in the gaps – but it never has the same quality.
I have considered using the voice recorder on my phone to record the fleeting moments and then try to decipher them the next day. But am too embarrassed at what they might contain to have my partner hear. It is enough that I subject him to snores and sleep mutters without the bizarre ramblings of my uncensored mind.
An example would be the night I prepared a routine for being a stand-up comic. It was great, I used and developed upon a range of true stories from my childhood – the potential was definitely there (and based upon a few I have shared at the office to my colleagues’ amusement – honest) led me to believe it was perhaps possible. However, my parents could never be in the audience as they have no idea about what I used to get up to.
So I am left with this drifting belief that I have a kind of mid-conscious creativity desperately trying to find a way out – searching for a gap between the realms, to seep into the real world, to be shared across minds. Yet I am utterly failing to release the ideas and give them freedom. Hence my attempt at a blog.
Perhaps here I can put the snippets together until a picture, direction or fully fledge idea can form. Then I can truly consider my mid-conscious ramblings to be something– and liberate my sanity.