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Heather E. Pecoraro

Heather E. Pecoraro is a little redheaded oddball who enjoys art, literature, and adventure. She has an insatiable thirst for knowledge, and can often be found tucked away somewhere with her nose buried in a book. Although she is currently studying Art, she spends most of her time writing down and re-arranging the words that get stuck in her head. She is very inspired by the works of Hermann Hesse, Kurt Vonnegut, and E.E. Cummings.

Behavioral Health Clinics, Waiting Rooms, and Wandering Thoughts

So, my doctor has given me this medicine, and when I’m not sleeping it makes my brain feel like it’s melting, and it has me wondering what these people do when they go home, when they’re not doctors (or nurses), when they’re disconnected from these machines; what are they doing, what are they seeing, what are they feeling, what are they hearing? Are they afraid of God? Do they dance on the tops of coffee tables? I wonder if some of them go home angry and rude to their husbands and wives. Little houses with pastel kitchens and cluttered counter-tops, piles of papers and pens.




Alice is very well-dressed and drives a brand new car, but her stomach is full of clouds and her head is in the air. And sometimes I really can’t imagine why she feels like she has to scrape out her insides with her fingers just to feel like somebody cares. “You’ve got your method, and this is mine.” I hope escapism lets you drift off somewhere nice, somewhere where there are no rules or reindeer games or Sunday schools. Someplace you haven’t left any fingerprints yet. There are still dust bunnies in the closets and spider webs on the door frames. There are no waiting rooms or little plastic cups or tiny dotted lines. Nobody ever signed them, anyway. They were always fake names, fake telephone numbers, different personae, different masks in every hallway.

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