THE CATCH 22 SOLUTION
About a week later I am asked if I
wish to return to my old apartment building to pick through the remains of my
life. I politely declined. Too much like stepping on my own grave thank
you very much. I gave them a list of
things they could bring if they wished to go to the trouble. My big yellow tackle box of art supplies, my
paintings,my cd’s and movie collection and a suitcase of clothes.’ The suite case I had packed before the fire,
and I had put it, and those other odds and ends stacked in the hall way. I had an idea that some of it would be
catching up with me sooner or later.
I was most pleased to get my tackle
box, ahh crayons and water color pens just what a mad woman needs to pass the
time.The staff was pleased with my paints and collages, always good to have an
artistic mad person in the house, gives the place a touch of class. Not feeling the muse I just spent my time
scribbling doodles on paper. Hardly
seemed worth the praise the staff heaped on me for scribbling. But if they wanted to pat me on the head, I
wasn’t going to argue.
The whole art thing came about
thusly. It was my thirty third birthday,
which I thought a fine time to do the take stock of life thing. Where am I now? What have I accomplished sort
of thing. Looking back I found that the
only thing I had really accomplished in life was to fuck things up and piss
people off.
Holy shit, I’m an artist.
Imagine my surprise. At the time I didn’t even own a box of
crayons.
A doctor interrupts my doodling to
ask if I would mind it if he brought in some interns to interview me.
I didn’t mind. Here I am all bored and they give me a room
full of baby doctors to play with. Why I
bet their just as cute as puppies.
And oh my weren’t they just, five of
them, so eager,trying so hard to look all serious and learned. Three men, two women all in their crisp
intern lab coats, clip boards up and pens ready.
“Do you know why you’r here?” The
head doctor asks me.
“Here in the hospital or here in
this room ?”
“Here in the hospital and here
talking with us.” He smiles. He likes
clever patients.
“Ahh well I would say that I am here
in the hospital because of a difference of opinion.” I smile. “I would say that I am here because
my former landlord Richard J Boccie is involved in the illegal drug business in
a fairly large way and that I have gotten in his way so he has taken a contract
out on my life. (if that really is the correct term, I don’t know maybe the people in
the mob call it a hostile take over).
And I am here because it is better than being killed.
“You on the other hand would say
that I am a paranoid delusional nut burger who has been driven over the edge by
certain unfortunate lifestyle choices and has, poor dear, become a danger to
self and others.
“Hence the difference of opinion.
“I’m here talking with you all
because I’m a fairly amusing nut burger and you thought it would be a nice
change of pace for your students from the depressing run of mumblers and
droolers they normally have to examine.
I smile, They laugh.
“Well let’s begin shall we?” I
adjust my glasses
First question from the well groomed
young man on the left. “Did you really set the fire in your apartment?”
“Yes, yes I did.”
“Umm, why did you set your apartment
on fire?” This from the woman in the
middle in carefully bland makeup.
“The short answer is because my
landlord was trying to kill me. The
slightly longer answer is because it would send me here.”
“You wanted to come here? Why?” They all lean forward in their seats. This was as answer they were not
expecting. Which is odd I think, after
all haven’t they gone into massive amounts of debts and years of schooling to
get here? All I had to do was start one
little fire.
“I call it the catch 22
solution.” I tell them.
“The situation I am dealing with,
whether you believe it or not, and I take it as a give that you don’t. Boccie wants me dead. He is offering a hundred thousand dollars to
see me dead. As ego flattering as that
is in a twisted sort of way. It is a bit of a problem. I cant get anyone like the police to believe
me about this, and I cant be sure that simply leaving San Francisco would be
enough to insure my continued breathing.
There is no such thing as anonymity anymore, anywhere I go I will leave
a trace that can be found by anyone with even a modicum of computer skills.
Since I cant get anyone to believe
me, well disbelief has its uses.
“First, being in a locked mental
ward, I figured that it puts me out of reach of Boccie’s hired guns. They arnt all that cleaver and perhaps with
me out of the picture it will give them a chance to calm the fuck down.
Second, one of the reasons Boccie
wants me dead, other then the fact that there is just something about me that
really pisses him off, is he is afraid that I just may get someone to believe
me. Well now that I am officially a nut
case my credibility is completely shot.
Thus removing one of Boccie’s
major motivations for wanting me dead.
Third, being now officially a
paranoid delusional nut burger I have some small protection from being killed
once I move on out of the system. So
long as I’m alive I’m just a delusional nut who thinks her former landlord is
trying to kill her. If however I end up
dead in some no doubt messy fashion
people might just begin to wonder if my paranoia might not be entirely
mad.”
While I admit it’s not an ideal
solution, it’s the best I could come up with under the circumstances And it
does appeal to my sense of humor.
“Why do you think your landlord is
trying to kill you.?”
“That is a long story.”
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