Has anyone ever told you not to open your mouth, lest you remove all doubt that you are a fool? No? Let me be the first.

On page 256 of my e-copy of the Stephen King novella collection Four Past Midnight begins a scene that sidles up to the boundaries of good taste, and in my opinion smashes those boundaries over the head with a hammer before having its way with them. I will quote two things from it in order to frame what I wish to say here.

How I spent the second half of February

(A note before I begin: This entry is going to talk a lot about the goings-on inside an acute-care ward within a mental health facility. For that reason, I am going to use aliases and flat-out mess-ups of names in order to protect anonymity and privacy. Please do not ask me who is who, because even if I do remember, I am not going to tell you. Similarly, if you recognise yourself in these writings and would like to be completely blanked out, feel free to comment.)

Adventures in ignorance, aka Queensland. Part one of many.

On the evening of Thursday, March 29, at approximately 1830 hours, I was feeling dizzy, ill, and congested. My blood sugar was slightly below 4.0 mmol/l, but against my better judgement, I decided to take a walk and try to clear my head. That proved a costly mistake when as I closed the door, I realised that I had forgotten to take the housekeys with me.