Pensive Peyote #12

Hmmm…huh…what time is it???

I turned over towards the direction of the alarm clock and saw the ominous red 4:47 shining brightly in the dark.

Oh wonderful, 13 more minutes. How am I ever going to conceal my excitement? I hate these damn summers out on the ranch. These people wake up and go to bed at ungodly times…

“Sarah, this will be good for you…build some real character you know? And colleges these days are all about the real life experiences in those entrance essays nowadays!”

How would you know Mr. GED?

I remember that conversation so clearly. Don’t ask me what Dad was thinking in trying to talk future college planning into a 13 year old, but there he was, convincing me that I should be looking ahead. He insisted that I spend at least one summer out on “the ranch,” which is the universally agreed upon name for the place within the extended family seeing as how Grandpa Coleman didn’t specify whose name it was going under before he died. Dad and all the rest of them squabbled over it like the chickens I have the pleasure of feeding in about 20 minutes. It was like all my aunts and uncles were darting in and out with their own mental beaks once the “feed” was placed in the middle of all of them…

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

And there it goes…even at 13 I know that 5:00 a.m. is not a time of day for normal people to be waking up, but here I am, dragging myself out of bed. I don’t even wake up this early for school!

I don’t even bother with breakfast. Heaven forbid I get breakfast before the chickens do. A few weeks ago I delayed their feeding time in order to have two pieces of toast, and apparently those creatures come equipped with ESP because they literally charged at me when I entered the pen with their breakfast. I had to bolt out of the pen to escape their gyrating beaks. I was half-tempted to just leave the pail right there by the door so they could wallow in their own miserable stupidity at chasing off a food-bearer, but I knew that they would probably figure out a way to get back at me in their sinister little ways.

*sigh*

As much as I hate those little monsters, I do love breathing this nice clean air every morning. In a few weeks I’ll be back at school in the city and there will be no clean air within 100 miles.

Cluck, cluck, cluck…

At least these little monsters won’t be there either…

*********************

“Sorry Sarah, we can’t come over tonight. We’ve got…uh…plans.”

“Oh really? Where you all going? I’ll catch up with you!”

“Well…actually…we’re already on our way down to Atlantic City. We’re SO sorry…we thought you were studying for that Bio exam tonight…”

You mean the Bio exam that was handed back to us this morning you dimwit?

“Well we gotta go! Good luck with that test!”

“Bye.”

Damnit! Those bitches cancelled on me again! And I even managed to find a buyer for all of us tonight! Is it too much to ask that one of my last weekends in town before college is spent with some friends?

*sigh*

Mom and Dad left for what they dub "the Coleman residence" otherwise known as their Rhode Island playhouse a few hours ago, and I managed to find beer for beer pong and tons of vegetarian food for an actual party. Even managed to get the word out over MySpace without Mom and Dad finding out, and now they’re all ditching on me.

“Gahhhh!!!”

SMASH!!!

“Shit.”

I didn’t mean to hit that…oh shit, it’s bleeding…bleeding badly! Where’s the first aid kit?

As I’m bandaging up my right hand, I wonder how exactly I’m going to explain the broken hallway mirror. Not to mention the five 24 packs in the fridge. I don’t want to throw it all out but I certainly can’t drink it all. If I have to answer Mom’s traditional “well didn’t you go out with your girlfriends this weekend?” question, I’m going to scream.

…

Wait a second…

SMASH!!!

I’ll tear the place up! Maybe that will get her to stop asking me that question while staring at me like I’m some pathetic loser who needs to get laid. If I make it look like I nearly tore the place down with friends over, maybe she’ll finally get off my case!

And hey, maybe they’ll let me keep the beer…

*********************

Patient suffers from manic depression and occasional panic attacks. States she cannot clearly pinpoint when episodes began to occur, but does associate a debilitating effect whenever the attacks happen.

Mother claims childhood history includes an incident where patient destroyed the home while parents were out and fabricated a story about having a party.

Will be prescribing Zoloft and Xanax for Ms. Coleman.

“Great…now I’m officially crazy…”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh, nothing Dr. Wilkinson! Thanks!”

Dr. Wilkinson turned back to his desk and scribbled “patient also seems to converse with herself without realizing it.”

“Damnit Sarah, what the hell was that? He’s probably making a not to himself to consider putting you in the nut house.”

God, what is wrong with me? I am an Ivy League educated woman so what the hell am I doing at a shrink’s office?

“Because you talk to yourself, that’s why.”

No no! Shut up!

“And now you’re telling yourself to shut up…well played Sarah. Well played.”

Ugh…how did this get so out of control? Doesn’t everyone do this?

“Only crazy people.”

“Huh? Were you talking to me miss?”

“Hmm…oh, no! I’m so sorry!”

“Now where do I find this pharmacy…”

*********************

We all have secrets: fears, regrets, hopes, beliefs, fantasies, betrayals, humiliations. We may not always recognize them but they are a part of us – like the dreams we can’t always recall in the morning light.

- Frank Warren