I'm still here, honest, I am ...

CPE still goes, and it is finals time for my one seminary class. I am trying to write a ten page paper. Meanwhile my dog club thinks I should be proceeding full steam ahead on its newsletter; I have to compose a five-minute Sunday Project before, well, Sunday, all of the dogs think I should be paying more attention to THEM, I am temporarily annoyed with my denomination, and what I'd love most to do is spend a day in bed surrounded by good books and trashy magazines, dozing off and on. Whine, whine, whine.

I have a special soft spot, it seems, for ladies of a certain age who are, as "the lingo" goes, "pleasantly confused." The other day such a lady kept wandering from somewhere else on the hospital floor down into our unit, and each time she did, someone would take her arm and very politely escort her back to her room. She had hair askew (I sympathize), a hospital gown, and fuzzy slippers, and she was clutching, very tightly, a stuffed toy cat. When she would arrive in our unit she would say vaguely confused sorts of things that suggested she wasn't quite in touch with reality. The fourth time she arrived, our social worker escorted her back to her room and, thinking to make pleasant conversation, asked, "And what is your kitty's name?" The lady gave the social worker a most condescending look and said, clear as a bell, "THIS is a STUFFED ANIMAL." One for the lady; the social worker returned, saying she felt put thoroughly in her place!