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Getting moodily depressed and bitter lately, I got to talking with a friend whose been in one hospital or another for months now, including a twenty-eight day coma, and still not being allowed to walk.
I'm feeling shitty and he's telling me he's heard from my family more than his own. And he's not allowed to even try to walk. Trapped in a hospital. With large portions of his body decimated by flesh eating bacteria and full of new artificial parts. You see where this is going?
And then he drops into the conversation that he's been watching TV a lot and did I watch Boston Legal? Before I can even say yes, he says something very much like: "Even in this hospital, I'm Denny Crane. You used to be Alan Shore. What the hell happened to you?"
And it's impossible for me to be petulantly depressed and moody right at that moment. A wave of realization washes over me. He's not nearly drugged up enough to think he is Denny Crane, but he's decided he's Denny Crane. And I don't know on what planet, in what weird alternate reality he saw evidence I was ever Alan Shore, but that's like a challenge, really.
Perceived disappointment should not inspire such happiness, but really, it did and has. Hasn't suspired off, yet. It's like someone expecting you to be Al Gore or Prince.
And the realization that I still get to walk and go outdoors and stuff didn't hurt. |
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