The Drunk Logs Read Online Free PDF

was real, and then was acknowledged when the figure bumped into my left shoulder as he passed. The second figure was a middle-aged woman who wore a pink jump suit and blue socks. Her face was tired; her eyes were puffy, matching her clown hair; she held onto the wall for stability when she walked. But I didn’t care what I saw right then, I just wanted to get back to my room and go back to sleep.
    Room 101 passed, then 103, and I grinned, knowing that my room was next. I pushed the door, but held it from opening all the way, as a trail of light landed on the back of Barry Eugene. I walked in quietly, blinked my eyes, and felt a tiny bit of relief that my bed was only a few feet away. I shuffled past Barry Eugene and slid into bed as I struggled with the comforter that seemed heavier this time. Laying my head onto the pillow, I released any air that was trapped inside the pillowcase, and willed my body to go limp. I savored the few hours left for sleep, and hoped that tomorrow would be slightly less hectic.

Chapter 2
    “Good Morning, gentlemen!” Carl cheerfully exclaimed, as he popped his head into the room. “Isn’t it a great day to be sober? Breakfast is at 9:00 a.m. in the cafeteria, but you need to see the nurse before that. I don’t care if you take a shower first or see the nurse first, but you must see the nurse, regardless, before breakfast. Have a good day, gentlemen.” He proceeded to the next room.
    I kicked off the covers, sat at the edge of the bed, and stared at Barry Eugene, still asleep. I was amazed that he hadn’t heard a word Carl said. I reached between the mattresses, pulled out my key and unlocked my cabinet closet. As I stared in at my clothes, I decided to go to the nurse first, before taking a shower. I closed and locked the closet, walked past Barry Eugene’s bed, and stopped to check my face in the mirror by the door before I left.
    “Damn it, still swollen,” I mumbled, disgusted, as I poked at my face.
    In the hallway, the nurses and patients still shuffled around in a mirage of overweight cartoon uniforms and aliens in street clothes. I still refused to show my eyes to anyone, and walked down the hallway with only a nod hello to the white tennis shoes I had befriended the day before.
    I made it to the nurses’ station and fidgeted all the while with my wristbands; while the path had become familiar to me now, behind the half-door was a nurse I had never seen before. She was older than the rest of the nurses, black and white hair in a bun, thin and bony, face stern like a 6th grade English teacher.
    “Name?” she asked with her face firmly planted into her patient catalog.
    “Matt Hoffman.”
    “All you need to tell me is your first name and last initial,” she barked.
    “Matt H.”
    “Let me see your I.D. bands.”
    She grabbed my wrist, and pulled me in close; my waist hit the half-door. She checked to see if the same numbers were in her book, released my hand, and opened the half-door.
    “Okay, come on in.”
    With apprehension, I entered and was directed to the wooden chair. She pulled my arm out, wrapped the blood pressure belt around, and pushed the start button. I looked up and noticed the same large nurse as the night before, with a stare stone cold. Beaten, I looked back at my arm and watched the belt fatten.
    “Still high.”
    Was she talking to me or was she referring to the gauge , I wondered?
    “Not much change. Hold your arms out straight in front of you.”
    “Damn it,” I whispered under my breath.
    I lowered my hands to my lap and stared at the large nurse’s shoes, one lace untied.
    The old nurse walked over to the medical cabinet and shoved the large nurse to the side; she collected different medications and put them into a paper cup. She turned around, took a few steps, handed me the cup, leaned over to her book, and initialed the medication administered. My hand shook as I grabbed the cup with the other hand in hopes of limiting the rattling of