July 20, 2009
Sam enters my office with more vigor than I've seen from him in the three years he's been under my care. At first I think he's "hopped up on 'the stuff'' but don't see chocolate around his mouth, the standard indicator. Perhaps he's started coloring his hair again (a thankfully short-lived experiment from a year ago)? I consider nose job for six seconds and blowjob for half that. He interrupts my contemplation of "Shoe-shine?"with a breezy, "Ta-da!" running his hands, Carol-Merrill-like, along his sides, indicating a jumpsuit that looks like a two-piece ensemble, the kind supplied to dementia "undressers". Fabulous!