The Sleeper Car is full of nightmares. I'm not alone, but that's no concern. The click of the tracks, the sway of the bunk, the wishing for a bone grinding derailment, the need to just sleep. Come punch my ticket, say something to me. Do I look like I look in every picture that's been taken of me? Is that why there's a moratorium on talking to me?

Twelve weeks out from thereapy, at least until the meeting that will disqualify me. "There's a 12 week waiting list. Are you a threat to yourself or others?" I know how this goes. Even murmuring a yes, (to myself, of course) gets me a shared room and hourly bed checks. "Are you using?" Nope. "Anything?" Nope. "Do you drink coffee?" wtf? That'll be what gets my ass through the square hole of rejection. They don't see coffee addicts. "You'll have to pay for this." I have insurance. "oooo, good. What kind?" medicare. "There's still a balance." I have supplemental."We'll have to check that out".

I got on the therapy train two weeks ago. Ten more til the station? I doubt it. Because I haven't been circling the admissions desk, pestering the help, I'm sure I'll soon realize that the train hasn't moved at all. They've no intention of seeing me. I could call today and find I'm still 12 weeks out. That's what a 12 week waiting list is. They move the train forward during the day, but at night slow it and start rolling backward. You never feel a thing. Look out the window, it's the same scenery.