turkish delight

Just back from hospital where I spent the night for a neurological physiological examination.
Sounds worse than it is but I am sure my health insurer will be overjoyed when I finally kick the bucket.

Anyway, I was expected at 2 pm, and after going through the whole admission procedure, we had to change the sleeping arrangements.
I was accidentally booked- in with a, very nice looking, Turkish man, who could not sleep with me because of his beliefs.

I felt quite hurt; when I was in hospital for my back last November, I shared a room with three ancient gentlemen. I lay awake trying to find some rhythm to their nightly grunts, snores and wheezing to lull me to sleep, but they were the sweetest things, fussing over me, giving me all kinds of advice - as if I still had my whole life in front of me.
I wasn't complaining, they did me a lot of good, kind of put things in perspective.
Maybe I could do the same for my Turkish friend here?
Never mind, it got sorted and I was sent off to get geared up.

Dear me, I had electrodes and wires glued on all over my head and body, even up my nostrils.
A heavy recorder in a black leather case strapped to me and I was partly wearing what I would be sleeping in - a nice lacy little set - because I couldn't change once I was wired up.

Right, I had come well prepared. My notebook in case of a story welling up, a tricky cryptogram, a good book.
Time would fly.
But it didn't. I couldn't relax, just sit down and concentrate. I was distracted by the place, the coming and going. I was hungry, thirsty, wanted a drink. Preferably alcoholic.
Nothing going. Coffee then - I craved coffee. The shop was closed.

There was internet. I tried a game of mah-jong but couldn't stop thinking of the germs that must be on the keyboard,  I gave up.
I couldn't stand my surroundings any more so I went for a walk.
And missed the coffee lady. Damn.
'Where were you then?' asked the woman I was sharing a room with. She was quite upset because she had said 'milk' when asked what I might want to drink, and I couldn't hide my disappointment.

'But you are not allowed to leave the building, didn't you know? she said shocked.
I didn't and I didn't care anyway. Why ever not?
'I'm not sure' she answered, 'but have you had a look in the mirror?'
I went to the bathroom to check and the image I saw was of an agitated woman with dishevelled hair, strangely dressed in loose fitting lingerie and purple harem pants, wired up and carrying what looked like a detonator - the epitome of a suicide bomber!!!
                                                                               
                                                     

                                                                                                  (I looked far worse)

It's a good thing I live in Amsterdam. Anywhere else I would have been shot on sight.
What was I thinking of?

Ah, that was exactly what was bothering me: What am I thinking of? And will my thoughts, my dreams somehow show in the data they  gather?
Silly, I know, but still, all this modern technology...................

Enough, I am home now and I am going to get into a nice warm bath, wash off the glue, finish my book and drink coffee, lots of it.
Nothing like the bath to calm down and collect your thoughts.
My thoughts?

Three old men, a foolhardy woman and Turkish delight - what would that look like on the doctor's chart?