MORNING: Wake up around 8 AM, trudge to the “dining hall”, pause to see if that pain in my leg is a blood clot shooting straight for my heart.  Not yet, so it’s eggy time!  Steal extra toast from Typhoid Mary, the crazy lady who picks scabs all over herself.  Check toast 5 times for lost scabs.  Clean and eat toast.

MID-MORNING: Walk through beautiful garden.  Feel dizzy from the smells, almost faint, run to Medicine, and ask for Ativan.  Get Ativan.  Listen to headphones playing Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper” on repeat until lunch.

AFTERNOON: Play with myself in my bathroom before lunch.  Can’t ejaculate from meds.  Wonder if the loss of feeling goes beyond just my junk.  Decide to test all my reflexes.  Hear someone calling for me to stop or I’ll go blind.  Check outside but no one’s there.  Go to Medicine for my Thorazine and Wellbutrin.  

MIDAFTERNOON:  Start to feel tired.  Look around to see if the thing in the corner of my eye is real.  It is.  It’s just a unicorn.  Unicorn tells me “to just fucking die already!”  Try to avoid Unicorn and panic by playing solitaire for four hours.

DINNER: Eat some food, then vomit it up because the mashed potatoes taste like strychnine.  Leave hall and go to my room.  Read Watership Down but can’t focus for fear of the pain in my left arm.  Wait for stroke.  No stroke.  Punch the wall and cry myself to sleep.  Wake up at two AM and laugh for 40 minutes at how pathetic I was, then fall back asleep.  

Day one of seven.  I don’t want to sound like it is all bad!  There were some hilarious moments and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the Dream Team.  Crazy is funny.  Later I’ll recount the schizos versus the Bipolars kickball tourney.  Things get out of hand when Big Bruce and I go on a panty raid!