i lie on my side, unable to move, while nat king cole's "unforgettable" plays over the PA system of the asylum.

the worst thing about straight jackets is the itching. well, one of the worst.

i'll hear this song at least five or six more times as it loops on the burned cd the receptionist puts on every night to calm us down.

when you can't move, the only thing you can really do is think. well, the sane ones that is. the ones like me. we can still think.

i don't really think much about how i got here. i think about the time i have left, and how i'm likely to spend it. i try and figure how many more times i'll listen to the song if i had to stay here until i die.

there's a bit of a running joke in here -- that if you aren't crazy when you come in, you sure as hell will be when you get out.

the joke being that you'll eventually get out.