My goal to get these women to eat things other than grilled cheese sandwiches has hit a little snag. That snag is called my own lack of experience in cooking. I've been trying my hardest, but. . .well, take the pancakes I tried to make this morning. I thought they were going very well, then. . .
Suddenly, I was dealing with a burnt mess. Since I hated to waste the food, I served them anyway. It helped that I'd gotten some chocolate sauce and bananas in our last grocery delivery. (This town has an amazing grocery, incidentally. Bananas in winter!) I smothered the ruined pancakes in them, and I think it helped a lot. It might be a good idea to stick to sandwiches for a while, though. Just long enough to get a better handle on cooking. At least I can ensure they're not grilled cheese sandwiches.
Of course, just making sure they get a more varied diet isn't going to fix these women. American's losing any and all semblance of being able to care for herself. She rarely showers, and she typically eats by grabbing whatever catches her eye first in the icebox.
Susie had a full-on breakdown the other day after being tossed around on the gyroscope. (If this doesn't convince the others that thing has no real use, nothing will.) She managed to snap herself out of it after a while, but for a moment. . .well, I thought she might be lost.
And she's still dancing around with a lampshade on her head from time to time. I have no idea how to handle this. And I can't get a hold of the ones who should be handling it at all! Where are these bloody doctors?! I can't run an asylum!
The one good thing is that Carole's doing a bit better. At least, she's given up carrying her flour baby about. She still fills her diary with lists of baby names based on people she knows (I didn't snoop, she showed me), but she's more functional, at least.
At least I have people to talk to outside of this place to keep me sane. The Ranswamis have proven to be a decent enough pair. I've made friends with the wife -- so long as we talk about fashion and simple things like that, we get along fine. And frankly, it's nice to be able to talk about simple things like that with someone. Makes me feel more like a person.
And there's my job to consider. I feel like, if I could just get to whatever considered the "top" of this career of mine, I could finally escape this place. I've been working hard on my acting and speech skills. They're not much good in my current job as a mime, but I'm hoping to impress the people at the agency and get myself a job that allows me to use my voice again.
And there's my painting. I've been working on simple scenes from Wonderland. The other girls seem to like them. Maybe one day I can make a living off my artwork. Or by telling my stories of Wonderland. I wonder how much a novelist can make. . .
Something to worry about another time. I've got to go claim a bed before I drop.
Something to worry about another time. I've got to go claim a bed before I drop.
***
I've mentally upgraded Susie to the patient in the worst condition here. After her antics yesterday, it's hard not to. First off, she decided to take a sponge bath when the shower was completely free. Perhaps not too mad, but still.
But then -- she peed herself. Right in front of the toilet. While still completely naked.
How do you even manage that? Wouldn't you have wanted to go to the toilet before you started washing yourself? Wouldn't you have noticed the pressure on your bladder?! And how can you hold it for that long, and then piss yourself in front of the toilet itself?!
How do you even manage that? Wouldn't you have wanted to go to the toilet before you started washing yourself? Wouldn't you have noticed the pressure on your bladder?! And how can you hold it for that long, and then piss yourself in front of the toilet itself?!
The worst part was the lack of reaction from everyone else! Joy went in there and started a conversation with Susie about how much she hated school, apparently completely missing the facts Susie was naked, smelly, and had just pissed herself! How do you even. . .
Then again, these are the same women who, even at their sanest, cheered each other on when they went on the gyroscope. I must not expect too much from them.
The distinct lack of sanity in this "outpatient" home is depressing. Carole still has little Gerald the flour baby. Every time I think she's about to rejoin the land of sanity, she pulls him out and starts cuddling him. I suppose I shouldn't be too hard on it her, she's hurting no one. . .it's just a little unnerving, that's all. (There's a reason I try to make sure I'm alone if I decide I want to talk to someone in Wonderland, after all.)
And Laura is starting to crack as well. She has terrible crying fits for no apparent reason. I've tried to comfort her, to no avail. I'm honestly a bit scared. Yes, these girls annoy me more often than not, but I wouldn't want anyone to actually have to go back to the asylum. Those places are a hell I wouldn't wish on my worst -- well, that's not true. On anyone less than my worst enemy. My worst enemy deserved to do a few rounds in the First Rutledge. Bastard.
But I think what's scaring me the most is the idea that whatever insanity they have -- is catching. Because -- well, how else can I explain seeing a couple of the girls glowing? I know I have visual and auditory hallucinations, but nobody in the real world has glowed before. Yet I saw Donna with a white light around her clear as day as she played chess the other day. She said she hadn't noticed anything when questioned -- her mind was completely focused on her game.
The same with Julie -- a strange glow surrounding her when she was playing chess, that she didn't notice. I don't know why people should start glowing in my mind. Have I done anything to myself that requires me to see people that glow? Damn it, I hate feeling helpless. Perhaps I should just ignore it, and it'll go away. . .
After all, I have a job to do. My agency has "promoted" me to jobs as a lounge singer -- which is good, as I was quite sick of being a mime. People don't like mimes. It's probably because of the ridiculous outfit. At any rate, as I told my new friend Christy, I'm going places. Moving up in the world. And one day, I'll have enough savings to buy my way out of here. I will make it.
I will.
I have to.
I will.
I have to.
***
I'M NOT GOING MAD I'M NOT GOING MAD VICTOR SEES IT TOO THANK GOD
Yes, starting off this entry like that makes me sound completely sane. But yes, Victor told me he sees it too! Though it's when he watches his fellow inmates play the piano, rather than when they play chess. Puzzling, but still -- I'm glad I'm not the only one who occasionally notices her roommates glowing.
Yes, starting off this entry like that makes me sound completely sane. But yes, Victor told me he sees it too! Though it's when he watches his fellow inmates play the piano, rather than when they play chess. Puzzling, but still -- I'm glad I'm not the only one who occasionally notices her roommates glowing.
Though the really confusing thing was when I saw Donna glowing -- while napping on the couch. Just for a moment, but still. What triggered that? What's the source of the glow? It can't just be my visual hallucination if Victor sees it, but. . . Ugh, I hate mysteries. They always seem to lead down bad paths for me.
Speaking of Victor, he and I have noticed something similar in our fellow inmates -- an inability to take care of themselves. I swear, it's more common now for the other girls to bathe themselves at the sink than in the shower. (Not that I'm complaining too much, means I can use it more often. . . .)
I think the main problem is, the girls keep getting sidetracked by the need to sob. Carole keeps crying about how she's lost her chance to be a mother, to contribute to the next generation. I thought about making a joke about Gerald, but decided against it -- it would bring more tears than laughter, I'm sure. I want to cheer her up, not make her feel worse.
Laura, too, now spends much of her time crying about how she wants to be rich and cared-for, not stuck in this "dump." Much as her wailing gets on my nerves sometimes, I sympathize. I want out of here as much as the next person.
And Susie -- is Susie. I think she's well and truly lost to us now. She spends almost every waking moment with that lampshade on her head, doing her little dances. We've tried to talk to her, but she just ignores us. It's sad, really. I want to help her, I really do, but -- I don't know how. And, of course, the doctors are still nowhere to be seen. I'm half-certain they just abandoned us out here. Maybe this place isn't a halfway home at all, but rather a dumping ground for all the women (and men, for Second Houndsditch) they can't find another place for. Ugh.
Well, they've got to come back sometime. Because if Susie keeps breaking down like this, eventually someone's going to call the local hospital or something. Not saying it'll necessarily be me, but. . . I'm keeping my options open. It's not fair to any of us to have her suffering like this here.
At least there are still some quiet moments, where I can do some studying and have time to think. Although -- I'm not sure if want any right at the moment. Not after what Victor told me. I believe him when he says he's not a necrophiliac -- if he was, I'm sure some sign of it would have popped up before now, but. . .
I don't know if I want to believe he saw the afterlife or not.
Because it hurts a little too much to think I might have a hope of seeing my parents and Lizzie again before
I don't know if I want to believe he saw the afterlife or not.
Because it hurts a little too much to think I might have a hope of seeing my parents and Lizzie again before
I should get to bed, it's late. Besides, I've spent the entire night reading a book of fitness tips for young ladies. Guaranteed to improve your physical health. Merely reading all those words about exercising wore me out. Still, I hope I can put the advice to good use.
just in case.
just in case.
***
Come stay at fabulous Rutledge Asylum! Where every meal is grilled cheese, the plumbing breaks regularly, and no one knows how to take a bloody shower!
All right, the last one doesn't deserve quite that much sarcasm. While it's distressing (and annoying) to see how easily the girls ignore their own hygiene, I can't blame them entirely. We only have one shower in the whole bloody place, and we're all fighting for it.
All right, the last one doesn't deserve quite that much sarcasm. While it's distressing (and annoying) to see how easily the girls ignore their own hygiene, I can't blame them entirely. We only have one shower in the whole bloody place, and we're all fighting for it.
And it does not help when every fixture in our one toilet breaks at once! I still can hardly believe it -- the sink, the toilet, AND the shower, all either clogged up or spewing water! And WHO had to fix everything herself? Sometimes I think this place is designed to drive people mad again instead of giving them that last push toward sanity!
To be fair, the last person I ever expected to help gave me a hand -- Susie followed me about and mopped up puddles in my wake. Granted, that would have been a bit more useful after I'd fixed everything, but it was still a very kind gesture, and I thank her for it.
Though I do wish she wouldn't have her breakdowns while I was studying. Or have them at all. Maybe I should have gone into psychiatry. That's obviously what the people in charge of this place think, given that they have yet to send any doctors in to help us. Perhaps my "practical experience," so to speak, means more to them. Arses, the lot of them.
I do try my best to keep a watchful eye on them, but it's hard, with so many of them breaking down into tears (at the very least) all the time. American's joined the crowd of worriers I have to deal with. Keeps mumbling to herself about "the magical ponies told me I have to make friends."
. . .Actually, that sounds like a pretty interesting hallucination. Maybe I should kill two birds with one stone and ask her about it.
. . .Actually, that sounds like a pretty interesting hallucination. Maybe I should kill two birds with one stone and ask her about it.
And it also does not help that they're STILL neglecting to clean the stove. We had yet ANOTHER fire the other day. On the plus side, I suppose I'm becoming desensitized to the horrors of the flames. It helps that the girls are smart enough to immediately grab the extinguishing devices. We haven't lost anyone yet. And I sincerely hope we never will. (Now if only I could pound it into their heads that to avoid this, we need to keep the stove CLEAN.)
Two things are helping me keep my mind. First, my job, which has proven to be very enjoyable. Being a lounge singer was actually rather fun -- I have a halfway decent singing voice. And I was actually rewarded with extra applause the night I had to make up half a song off the top of my head. Now, though, my manager wants me to shift to an earlier time slot and try ventriloquy. Well, I have plenty of experience talking to myself -- I just need to learn how not to move my lips while doing so. And while I did like my singer's dress, it'll be nice to wear something a bit warmer on snowy nights.
And the other is my painting. Expressing my thoughts in oils and pigments calms me down a lot. I'd almost forgotten how much I loved art. Maybe one day I can try and make my mark on the world as a famous artist. For now, it's enough to have something to take my mind off the insanity around me. In fact, I think I'll go work on my latest piece now. I could use a little calming.
***
I changed my mind. I hate ventriloquy. Not the actual act -- I've actually done pretty well at that. It's the outfit they want me to wear. The lounge singer dress didn't show off this much! Is the idea that people won't notice my lips moving if they're staring at my chest?! This is horrible!
I can't deny that I'm earning decent money, though. I've got quite a number of pounds stashed away in my new bank account. Perhaps not enough to buy my own house yet, but we're getting there. Still, I really think I'm going to have to have a talk with my manager about this costume. I don't like being exposed like this.
Life here at Second Rutledge has become a little quieter, though some of the girls still spend their time crying or worrying over what they wish they could be doing. I don't know if anyone's actually getting better, or if they're just getting better at keeping their breakdowns to themselves. This is worrying, and something I need to watch.
Especially in light of Donna peeing herself right in front of the toilet. If the girls are going to forget how to properly perform basic bodily functions. . .well, I'll go out and drag a doctor here by the hair if need be. And make him mop up the resulting puddles too.
Oddly enough, I've found something to help me keep my head on straight (or as straight as it gets) in exercise. That book of fitness tips I read had a chapter on "yoga." It's all about bending and stretching and balance. I gave it a go the other day. The other girls gave me odd looks, but it felt rather nice to give all my muscles a good stretching.
I completely failed at the pose I attempted, though. I don't think my arms are quite strong enough to keep me supported yet. That was a painful lesson. I intend to keep at it, though. If I can quadruple-jump in Wonderland, surely I can do a handstand in the real world.
Besides, I feel marvelously fit after trying it. And it really helps chase away all my worries about my living situation and the state of everyone's sanity.
Hmm. You know who could use this book? Victor. I'll have to see if I can get it to him.
Hmm. You know who could use this book? Victor. I'll have to see if I can get it to him.
***
I had Victor over today, to lend him the book I found recently. I sort of wish he hadn't come while I was trying to practice my yoga, but at least my exercising outfit is better than my nightgown. Besides, it provided a great lead-in to telling him about the book.
He was quite interested in the book, and very pleased that I'd thought of him. He also had a book for me -- one about learning the secrets of lifelong happiness. He said he really hoped it would help me find the peace I've been looking for. He's such a sweet young man. I'm very fortunate to have found him.
In fact. . .this is probably just the spring air talking, making me think things I don't normally think. . .but -- he's rather handsome as well. He's got such a nice smile. And we have such pleasant conversations. . .I wonder. . .
Yes, because romance is just what a pair of recovering lunatics need. I need to focus on getting out of here before I even think about becoming someone's girlfriend. Though. . .getting just one kiss with Victor would be nice. . .
Damn you, Victor. You've turned me soppy.
Yes, because romance is just what a pair of recovering lunatics need. I need to focus on getting out of here before I even think about becoming someone's girlfriend. Though. . .getting just one kiss with Victor would be nice. . .
Damn you, Victor. You've turned me soppy.
Victor also introduced me to a friend of his, a Miss Vamsi Tomyoy. My agent is always saying I've got to get to know the public better, so I was glad to meet her just for that. Hopefully I can make a new friend out of this. She seemed level-headed enough for my tastes. And very sympathetic to my and Victor's plights. Maybe I can get her to get those doctors back and doing their jobs.
Speaking of which, life here at Second Rutledge is still filled with the sound of crying. At least once a day, someone breaks down and wails about how she'll never amount to anything again. It's both sad and a little annoying. However, I'll take the wailing to anyone naming flour sacks Gerald, or sticking lampshades on their heads. At least crying is semi-normal behavior.
And all is not lost for my merry band of lunatics. Donna today proudly announced that she's mastered the game of chess, and fully believes she can beat anyone who challenges her. I may take her up on that at some point. I enjoy chess, and playing against a self-confessed master. . .if I win, I have something to brag about. If I lose, I have someone to ask for tips. It's ideal. And hopefully less confusing than trying to ask the residents of the Pale and Crimson Realms for advice.
And, of course, I have my new book to read. I wasn't sure what to expect, but -- it really does seem to contain some good advice. Things about hanging onto happy memories, doing things you love, not forcing yourself to be someone you're not. . .all simple, common sense things. I like it. Hopefully it really will help. Victor is such a nice fellow. . .maybe. . .
I'll decide on that later. Right now, I need some sleep. And since every bed is taken, I'm going to have to make myself comfortable on the loveseat for a while. Hopefully someone will wake up soon. Good night.
***
Well, it finally almost happened. Those grilled cheese sandwiches nearly became the death of some of the girls. Apparently one of them started making them, then for some reason got distracted and walked away. I woke up this morning to the fading screams of Joy and Susie as Susie finally got the flames out. Neither of them could tell me who was responsible for leaving the food, but when I find out. . .
Living here has almost become intolerable. My fellow patients often forget to bathe themselves in anything but their own tears. Their sole goals in life seem to be wailing and making fools of themselves. I still have some sympathy for them -- sometimes I feel like crying too. But honestly, there's only so much smelly human one can take. Why do we only have the one shower? It's mad! One day I'm going to come home and find someone's died of the stink.
I am so glad I'm allowed to talk to regular people and go outside, unlike the others. I've been talking with Vamsi a lot lately. She's got an interest in fashion, and I have to admit, it's nice to have a girl whom I can share my love of pretty dresses with. She's even said that when I get out, she'll help me find a seamstress so I can celebrate the occasion by getting my favorite Wonderland dress made for real. Such a nice woman. I really have to thank Victor for introducing us.
My painting also continues to go well -- having something creativy to do really soothes my mind sometimes. It's nice to be able to show off my beloved Wonderland in watercolors or oils. American's said I should open an art gallery when I'm released. I don't think I'll be able to do that, but I'll happily see if I can sell some of these. Every extra penny counts.
I can't say there's much else to report. I'm still doing ventriloquy, although I've told my "agent" that I really want to try doing something else. I really do hate this stupid outfit they force me to wear. Still, a job's a job, and anything that gets me closer to self-sufficiency gets me closer to getting out of here and into a place of my own.
And a bed of my own -- I'd better go and get Carole off the one that's free so I can get some sleep right now.
And a bed of my own -- I'd better go and get Carole off the one that's free so I can get some sleep right now.