Oct. 29, 2003 - 17:52 MST

THE WONDERING JEW

Authentic Mentalic

Part of this old man's routine of life. Every six months or so it is mandatory that I go to the mental health facility of our HMO.

No gripe here. I was once so far around the bend that I attempted suicide. So it is a matter of course that I go in and have my mental oil checked periodically.

The purpose and routine varys little, they eyeball me, ask me a few questions, query me about the form I filled in before the technician or doctor sees me, which I have already established by answering their first oral questions. Then there is a time of conversation dealing with most anything that comes to mind. Perhaps the one seeing me is trying desperately to figure out if I am tracking or am that silly all the time. I am reminded when next to come in.

I goofed once one summer, cut down on my pills judiciously, which I have carefully done in the summers. I made one mistake though, I didn't make an appointment to see the Doctor and called in for a renewal on my prescription.

Got a call from the Doctor wherein I was gently but firmly reprimanded (chewed out with finesse) and told to make an appointment to come in and see him. Then, after I made the appointment my prescription was renewed. Guess I had it coming, the doctors didn't know how I was doing or if I had moved out of country, died or what.

It is not much different than any other health matter I guess, one needs to see their practitioner every six months or a year. But the Golem of a strait jacket hangs over me during this particular procedure in a way. Going in I have the dread that suddenly the doctor will decide that I am in outer orbit. How does one realize he is crazy if he hasn't felt anything different or his perception hasn't changed in his view ? Will I be snuck up on and sedated with a pow of a needle and thence transported to a home for the mentally askew ? Or for what other possible reason ?

How Halloweenie can I get ? If a black cat crosses my path will I come unglued, unscrewed or magically disassemble while running screaming into the woodwork ? The frisson of not quite being sure of myself certainly stirs up my pulse and apprehesions.

I guess it is just the seasonal dangling skeletons, skulls and ghosties putting the boo in my hoo. Never happened like this before though. Maybe my psyche and my id talked things over and came up with a good prank to pull on me for this morbid holiday. Could that be it ? ? ? ?

Anyhow, for another six months I can be classified as a person who is certified as being one who is an Authentic Mentalic . . . . . . . . . . .

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