Sunday, December 18, 2011

Hope Photography

This is part of a project I did on the theme of hope, but I didn't really like any of the other pictures I came up with. I like this though.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Waiting for the Psychiatrist

I'm waiting to see the psychiatrist to ask him for something to take the edge off my life. I always get the best ideas for stories in crazy places like here. The walls are cinder blocks, painted white. The carpet appears to be made of blue brillo pads. The seats are orange. I am offended by the colour scheme.

I don't speak to the other girl in the waiting room, I'm analysing her. I want to know what's wrong with her. We'd probably be friends, us both being loonies. She has a blonde streak plaited into her bobbed brown hair. She has that pretty but hunted look of Winona Ryder in Girl, Interrupted. I notice that she's got a bookmark in every single page of her copy of 'Pride, Prejudice and Zombies.' Proof, I think, that she's crazy.

In fairness, she probably thinks I'm mad, too. So far I've gotten out of my seat three times: Once to ask the receptionist a question, once to get hand sanitizer and once for what must have seemed like no reason at all (was going to ask a question again but decided against it).

I'm reasonably sure I can hear the psychiatrist cutting his toenails behind his office door. The sound is unmistakable. So that's what they do all day! Later on, he will tell me that his room is very well insulated and it's impossible to tell if there are people outside it.

She gets called in before me. Her name is Justine, and I wonder whether she'll be crying when she comes out. It's half past four. My appointment was at four. The budget is being broadcast on the radio. It would drive you crazy if you weren't already there. It occurs to me that I may be considerably madder than I think and I may have imagined the psychiatrist, or for that matter, this whole situation.

Justine isn't crying when she comes out. The offices are like a maze. I still want to know what's wrong with her. I imagine she looks thin, but in reality she's just a slim teenager. The psychiatrist appears to go back to cutting his toenails and doesn't call me in for quite some time.