Fresh Out Of Cahill

My life has recently played host to yet another bout with stupid craziness. I want you to think back to the heady days of July 15 through the 21st, 2008. On July 15, I had myself a little breakdown, partly because of something the cable company did. But I was in narcotic withdrawal, as well, and that didn't help.

The clinical terms is, "bananas."

When I decided to flutter back to Earth, I found that my ass was in a cell in the basement of Cambridge City Hospital. Turns out, I killed 128 people. No, I'm kidding. Really. At that point the magical psychiatric ward dance begins. I take my clothes off, they give me an ill fitting johnny with my ass hanging out, I get my clothes back, sans car keys that were in the pocket. Now that's a grisly suicide. Anyway, the dance ends when I get searched by a cop and then escorted to a locked, psychiatric ward.

That's a significant reason for the lack of posts of late. But I have pages upon pages of notes, just of things I saw and whatnot, so that will be up here soon. If that for any reason would interest you. You loser.

Good to be out! More soon, chickies!