It Seemed Like a Good Idea. . .

Last night over dinner, I discussed with my family what it would take to get me locked up in a psychiatric ward because this is my dream: I want to lie around in my pajamas all day in a padded room. What I came up with (I had to come up with it because my wife was not very thrilled with the topic of conversation and wasn’t helping) is that I could show up to work early and stand outside naked and throw tomatoes at people as they came into work. I would wear shoes, because walking barefoot on the concrete might hurt my feet. And socks. Of course I’d be yelling some gibberish to top it all off. I think nude tomato hurling and gibberish yelling would earn me a well deserved vacation in the state hospital. I would get my free drab-colored P.J.s and maybe even a matching robe. I wonder if they give out slippers. I’m not usually big on slippers, but those institutional linoleum floors look chilly. I would live the life. I could make some new friends and play checkers, maybe watch a little T.V. We’d want to watch the World Series, but the head nurse wouldn’t let us because she’d be a real bitch, so we would act out the game ourselves instead. That would show her. We’d have all kinds of fun. I’d teach the guys to play cards and basketball. Then, towards the end of my stay, the large Native American fellow would throw a sink through the window and escape. I’d go with him, but earlier, I’d received a frontal lobotomy and been smothered with my own pillow. . . . Hmm. Maybe the psych ward vacation is not such a good idea.
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