Bangers and Mash
waiterrant.net It’s 10:00 PM and I’m sitting in the day room of the psych unit writing my patient notes. Because the hospital’s somewhat antediluvian, I have to scribble them out by hand. Unfortunately a Medicare auditor recently complained she couldn’t read my chicken scratch so my boss advised me improve my penmanship. Abandoning the cursive scrawl of my youth, I slowly print words like disorganized, delusional, and confabulating with the care of a medieval monk transcribing an illuminated manuscript. Well, you can almost read it. After half an hour of writing the arthritis in wrist suddenly flares up.