it's always just the IV

it's always just the IV

fiction
edward w pritchard

The room is always perfectly square smallish and stuffed to the brim with fine furniture like a parlor in a Hapsburg castle in 1890's Vienna. The light and ventilation is serene although it crosses your mind quickly, your subconscious trying to protect and alert you, you may be in a basement bank vault on a slab somewhere. Still the room and setting is very inviting as your cares and anxieties dissolve.

Disappointingly the nurse administering the IV is not quite pretty enough and get this she is Canadian with a strange British accent. Still she is patient and invitingly forward in her hyper efficiency.

The mood is broken temporarily by a legal officer of the group needing a signature on a missing form for Google. Once you are fully out however nirvana envelopes you for the remainder of the session.

After you have forgotten the terrible traffic and road construction on the way in
as your arm aches near the inside of the elbow and you have a hint of sadness that you will never have her near you again.

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