January 10, 8:25 P. M.
Settled In
Mood: Sore
Well, today was the big day. After Church, Dad and I had lunch and finished packing up. Then we headed down. On the way there, Dad was really serious. He said, "Honey, there's something about Mr. Monk that I don't think you understand."
"I understand quite a bit," I said. "I know he has OCD and possibly AS, like I do. I know he won't be completely comfortable with me around, but I'm going to do my best–"
And he said, "No. Honey, he's a very sad man. He carries a lot of hurt around. It almost spills out of him. His emotions are very fragile. "
"I know he's sad because he lost his wife, but most of the time he acts OK. He's not depressed is he?"
"He might be. Look, I know you like to ask questions about your mother, and I answer them for you because she was your mother and you need to know about her. But I wouldn't question Mr. Monk about his wife just because you're curious. There's no reason to get him upset. And just be good to him. Treat him with special care."
All I could think of to say was, "I'll try." I haven't really thought of him that way. Man, that seems to make things harder.
This move took a long time. I was hoping to at least make it to evening services. I knew it would take all afternoon, but I didn't have a lot of stuff. Everybody was there to help. It should have taken a few hours. I think it took so long because Mr. Monk kept moving stuff around. We had to pick up the bed twenty times to get it completely straight and centered in the study. My arms feel like they're going to fall off! But I didn't complain. I didn't want to get off to a bad start with my host.
So we were finished around 6:30 or so. Dad gave me a big hug and told me to call every day. I told him I would. "Take good care of him," he whispered to me.
"I'll do my best," I said.
Then he patted Mr. Monk on the shoulder and said, "Take good care of her."
He nodded and said, "OK." As soon as Dad walked out the door, Mr. Monk sighed, looked at me and said, "So . . . it begins."
"Yeah, it does. I'm hungry, how about you?"
And Natalie offered to get me something, her treat. I tried to refuse, but she insisted. She said, "It's been a long day for you. It's the least I can do."
"How about a sub sandwich? Does that sound good?"
Mr. Monk shrugged. I asked for a club, no onions, peppers, or condiments, on wheat bread with a Dr. Pepper and a small bag of Cheetos. Mr. Monk asked for a meatball sandwich with no cheese. Maybe he's a little bit of a cheapskate. Natalie got it for us, and it was so good! I watched "King of the Hill" while I was eating. Oh, that Dale Gribble cracks me up! I invited Mr. Monk to join me, but he wasn't interested.
Now, I'm writing my blog entry, so the Internet works. Things will probably be good. Guess I'll know tomorrow.
January 11, 9:34 P.M.
First Day
Mood: Content
I didn't have a good night last night. I guess I should have expected. Maybe I should have had milk instead of Dr. Pepper, but Mr. Monk has a thing about milk. I don't get it. He's a hypochondriac. Shouldn't he be more afraid of osteoporosis? I would be; of course, I'm a woman and at greater risk. Oh well. Maybe it'll give me a good excuse to try the GF/CF diet. I just got to find some way to get some calcium!
So this morning I made myself an extra cup of coffee. As I was fixing breakfast, Mr. Monk came in. I greeted him with a "Good morning!" but he said, "I'm sorry you didn't sleep well last night."
I said, "Don't be. It's not your fault."
He looked a little surprised, and he said, "It's not?"
I said, "No. The first night's always the hardest for sleeping when I'm in a new place. It'll take a while, but I'll get used to it. Every once in a while, I'll have a sleepless night for no reason, but I'll deal with that when it happens. Wait a minute. Did you think you were keeping me up?"
"Well, I was straightening things a little this morning, vacuuming, that sort of thing."
"Oh, don't worry about that. I didn't hear it."
"Yes, your fan blocks out sound and lulls you to sleep."
"Exactly. It's a habit I developed in the dorm. Now, the light coming under the crack in the door, that might have contributed. I'm very sensitive to light. I can't sleep if there's any light in the room."
"I'm sorry."
"I told you, it's not your fault."
"Right, OK."
I offered to fix his coffee for him, but he wanted to fix it himself. Well, my tastes are particular too. I made waffles, probably my favorite breakfast. I dropped one dripping with syrup on the floor. Mr. Monk and I groaned simultaneously. I stopped what I was doing and tried to clean it up, and I apologized up and down. Mr. Monk just waved his hand and said, "It's not your fault."
"Yes it was. Nobody else is here dropping waffles."
"It's not your fault. It's sleep deprivation and dyspraxia working together. You can't be held responsible. You are what you are."
"And that's all that I . . . 'are,' I guess," I added laughing. So I thanked him and then realized time was getting away from me. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, brushed my hair, and then Natalie came to take me to school.
I had three classes today: Literary Theory (yuck), and English Novel. It was just basically handing out the syllabus and icebreaker type stuff. I got most of my books. I have a lot of books this time because of English Novel. I held off on some of them because I'm sure I remember shelving them in the library. I started reading "Robinson Crusoe" for class while I ate lunch. Then I had to work at the library until night. There weren't any books to shelve yet, so I spent my time greeting people as they came in and handing out bookmarks. I hope this doesn't go on much longer. My legs and feet are sore from standing so long, and some people are so rude.
Then I had Senior Seminar around 6:00. It's a long class, but it only meets once a week. It's required for graduation. But it looks interesting. We're studying romantic literature.
Natalie picked me up at 8:00. I told her about my day on the way back, but she didn't talk about hers. Mr. Monk was in the living room, and he looked like he didn't want to be disturbed. He's probably thinking about his latest case. So I heated up a TV dinner, watched "The Simpsons," fixed some Sleepy Time Tea, and worked on my blog entry.
I think today was a good start.
January 12, 10:12 P.M.
Really My Chance to Shine
Mood: Pleased
First thing I said when I saw Mr. Monk was, "You'll be happy to know that I slept a lot better last night. Sleepy Time Tea, it works wonders."
He just said, "Glad to hear it."
I had some dry cereal and a banana. I finished getting ready, and I started on the chicken. Mr. Monk was confused that I was starting on supper in the morning. I don't think he's seen a Crock Pot before. You know, something really funny happened this morning, and for some reason I can't remember what it was. My memories better than this. Huh.
Today wasn't as long. I had a couple of classes, but I didn't have to work at the library. I had Death and Dying today, which is actually very interesting, and Creative Writing (finally!). I had lunch, and I came back, finished supper, and then watched TV and worked on homework while I waited for everybody to come back.
Natalie said it smelled very good. I was glad she thought so. Mr. Monk came in, and he looked confused. I explained to him that he asked for chicken pot pie, so I fixed chicken in the Crock Pot and pie–apple pie. I also fixed some mixed vegetables, crescent rolls, and sweet tea. I invited Natalie and Julie at least for a piece of pie. Julie was more than willing. Natalie needed more convincing, but she stayed. She complemented me most about the meal. It was all, "Wow, this is delicious. And you fixed this in a Crock Pot? I must have your recipe."
Mr. Monk wasn't talking much, and neither was Julie. I guess as the hostess, I needed to break the ice. So I said to Julie, "You're very quiet."
She answered, "I'm very hungry!"
That was going nowhere, so I said to Mr. Monk, "How was your day?"
He answered, "Do you really want to know?"
I said, "Yeah. This is how Dad and I socialize. We talk about our day over supper. I don't know half of the stuff he says. It's all techno mumbo-jumbo, but I still listen and respond. Dad worries that if I don't use these skills, I might lose them."
So he started talking about this case. A preacher was stabbed with a crucifix. All the evidence points to the secretary, but she's denying any of it. She's genuinely distressed, saying repeatedly that she'd never kill God's servant. Mr. Monk wondered if somehow she didn't know that she murdered him. He actually recognized her. She goes to the same institute he goes to when he's seeing Dr. Kroger. But she's not one of Dr. Kroger's patients. She won't tell Mr. Monk who she goes to see or why, saying that violates her privacy as a patient. But he said he's seen her before and after she goes to see her therapist, and she never acts the same.
I interjected, "Oh, you think she might have D.I.D.?"
He looked at me weird and said, "D.I.D.?"
"Dissociative Identity Disorder, formerly known as Multiple Personality Syndrome. It would make sense because when the more dominant personality switches to the lesser dominant, they don't remember what happened."
Mr. Monk was just listening to me, and he said, "I didn't even think of that. You're right, that is possible. It's a long shot. People who really have multiple personalities are rare. I've seen several criminals who try to fake having multiple personalities. But it could happen. I mean, people like you and me are rare too, right?" We all chuckled at that.
Then I asked what his theory was. He told me he thought she was hypnotized. I said, "Well, I know that's impossible. I've been to a couple of hypnotists' shows, and one of the first things they say is that you can't do anything against your moral code when you're under hypnosis. So unless she's really antisocial . . . well, maybe that's not impossible either. She's a secretary, after all."
I think everybody liked my food. Julie loved the pie and the crescent rolls. Natalie told me how impressed she was with my cooking abilities. But Mr. Monk didn't say anything. So after Natalie and Julie left, I started cleaning up and doing the dishes. Mr. Monk came in, and I asked him what he thought. He said, "It was good, but I think you need to know that this wasn't what I meant."
I told him, "I know what chicken pot pie really is. Dad and I used to have pot pies every Sunday for lunch. It's a low budget food. I was trying to be cute. Maybe I should have told you what I was doing, but I also wanted to surprise you. I wanted to thank you for doing this for me, and the best way to thank someone is with an extra-special dinner. You know what they say, 'A way to a man's heart is through his stomach.'"
"Well, I guess I can appreciate that," was all he said. I think he was somewhat upset that his routine was disrupted. I'll be more mindful about that in the future.
Video Tape AM 055 (excerpt, edited to protect anonymity)
Dr. Charles Kroger
9:00 A.M. January 14, 20–
The first thing I felt I needed to address with Adrian was how life was going with his new tenant.
"So, how long has it been? It is a week already?"
"Four days. Well, technically three and a half, and this morning."
"Has it been a difficult adjustment?"
"Well, it hasn't been easy, but . . . I think I'm ok."
"What about Sue?"
"She had trouble sleeping at the beginning, but she's doing better. She hasn't been complaining."
"And what do you think about her, now that your living with her?"
"Well, she's a woman of her word. I admire that. She's everything she said she'd be."
"Is she?"
"She said she'd be out of the way. I hardly ever see her. She said she'd be quiet. She almost never talks. Usually she's watching TV or on her computer. She said she'd be neat, clean, and a good cook, and she's been all of those. She's been fairly good at following my rules. She's a bit absent-minded at times, but we can't all be perfect."
"Absent-minded?"
"Well, this morning, she got a coffee mug down and put it on the stove. Then she started fixing her breakfast of peanut butter toast. She put the plate down at her spot, and then she turned around and got this look of complete shock on her face. I knew what she was thinking, 'Where'd my coffee mug go?' She looked next to the coffee maker, not there. Next to the toaster, no coffee mug. She turned back to her spot at the dining table, not there either. She started pacing in the kitchen, muttering to herself, 'Coffee mug, coffee mug, where'd it go? I know I got one down . . . did I?' Finally, she saw it on the stove, and she hit her forehead and yelled, 'Oh yeah, that's right, I put it here!'"
"So why didn't you help her?"
"Well, I did try to gesture with my head, but I don't think she saw. She was embarrassed that I was watching her. She said to me when she found the cup, 'I feel so stupid now. I bet you have no idea what that's like.'"
"And what did you say?"
"I couldn't think of the right thing to say, so I just said, 'It could be worse.' That satisfied her, I think. She said, 'Yeah,' and that was it."
"OK. Well, things do sound good. Are you surprised?"
"I am quite a bit surprised, actually. You know, there is something unusual about her."
"I imagine there's a lot unusual about her. She's autist–"
"Yes, I know, but there's this one thing that really puzzles me. Sue may be the first person I've ever known who's never questioned me."
"Never questioned you? What do you mean? She's never asked you a question?"
"No, that's not what I mean. See, well you know I said earlier that she wasn't sleeping well. The first morning I saw her, I could tell that she didn't have a good night's sleep. For one thing, she made half a pot of coffee, which caused me to assume that she needed more than one cup. For another thing, she looked abnormally tired. She looked like she didn't get to stage three sleep. So I just said right away, 'I'm sorry you didn't sleep well last night.' Now, most people, when I say something like that balk at me for a second then say, 'Monk, how did you know that?'"
"Right."
"Well, all she said was, 'Don't be. It's not your fault.' She never asked me how I figured it out."
"Did you want her to?"
"Well . . . maybe. It's just that I've gotten used to it by now."
"Autistic people do tend to take things at face value. I've heard that many don't immediately get punch lines of jokes. Some even take them literally. Maybe it just didn't occur to her that what you said was out of the ordinary."
"Maybe. Or maybe she knew how I figured it out. I can tell that she notices things."
"What kind of things?"
"Well, like the other day. I came into the kitchen, and she was laughing. She was laughing very, very hard, and she wouldn't stop. She fell into the counter and laughed. Naturally, I asked her what's so funny. She stopped laughing and she said, 'Well, I didn't expect this from you. You must be a Simon and Garfunkle fan."
"That was out of the blue."
"You'd think that. I had a hunch of what she was talking about, but I asked. She said, 'I was just looking at your spice rack here. It's all alphabetized except for these last three–sage, rose–'"
"Rosemary and thyme."
"Yes. And she said, 'So are you going to Scarborough Fair for some parsley?"
I laughed, "That was clever."
"Yeah, it was. I didn't tell her that Trudy did that. It was her spice rack; I never bothered it. But you know, I've had several people who've seen my kitchen. Nobody's brought that up. Nobody noticed it."
"Or perhaps nobody thought it was important enough to mention. Nobody thought something like that was funny. This whole incident taught you a lot about her, didn't it?"
"Yeah, it did."
"You might have learned more if you asked her more questions. Why don't you try to take some time to talk to her? I think she'd probably love to take a walk, and you like to take a walk every once in a while. Maybe that'll be a good time to get to know Sue."
"But when I walk, I–"
"I know, and I'm sure she'll understand those unexplained compulsions. But when you're not tapping parking meters and assigning them a number, why don't you ask her why she's not questioning you, or how she's liking living in your apartment, or what she's studying? You can do that, can't you?"
"I'll try."
"Good. Now, is there anything you want to talk about?"
"Oh yes, there is one thing. I need an expert's opinion. There's a psychological matter I need to understand for one of my cases."
"Well sure, I'd be happy to help. What do you need to know?"
"What do you know about hip–?" Adrian suddenly pauses and looks out the window.
"Is there something wrong?" No response. "Did you just hiccup? I'll get you some water."
As I get up, without looking at me, Adrian replies, "Dissociative Identity Disorder."
I take my seat again. "Excuse me?"
"D.I.D.? Formally known as multiple personality?"
"Oh, yes. Some of us still call it multiple personality. It was just recently changed in the DSM-IV. Old habits are hard to break, you know. Well, I've studied it. I've never met anyone with multiple personalities, and frankly I question that diagnosis sometimes. But I know some psychologists that say they have worked with multiple personality cases."
"That would be great, thank you."
"Now, why do you ask? Do you have a suspect with multiple personalities?"
"It's a theory." He chuckles. "It's kinda silly, isn't it? I mean, what are the chances? It's like something Lieutenant Disher would think up."
"Did Randy think that?"
Adrian stops laughing. "No." He paused. "What do you know about hypnosis?"
"Oh, that was what you almost said earlier, wasn't it?"
"Yeah."
"W-why did you say dissociative identity disorder first?"
"I'm not sure."
He looked genuine about that, so I pressed on. "I did study hypnosis rather extensively in college. It was a curiosity of mine. I've never used it, though. I don't think it's reliable. In my opinion, it doesn't bring about life-long changes, and the things people say in a hypnotized state aren't always real. Why?"
"It's another working theory. There was this preacher who was stabbed. There's blood everywhere in the secretary's office, but she denies any involvement. I think that she was in some other mental state. I've seen her here. She always gets on the elevator."
"You know, I think there's a psychologist here that uses hypnotism, Dr. (last name deleted). Maybe you can talk to him. He keeps asserting that his ability to mesmerize is a gift from God."
A look of intrigue crossed Adrian's face.
End Tape AM 055
January 14, 9:55
I Solved a Mystery!
Mood: Proud
Well, this evening, I was planning on doing some channel surfing and studying, but around 7:00 or so Mr. Monk came in and put on his coat (I don't know why, it wasn't all that cold out). "I'm going to take a walk," he announced.
"Going anywhere in particular?"
"Nah. Just counting telephone poles and parking meters."
"Making sure that they're all still there?"
"Don't ask me to explain it. I don't understand why I have to do it myself."
"Oh, I gotcha. OK, have fun."
He nearly walked out the door, but then he turned back and asked, "Hey, do you want to come?"
I sat there for a moment and wondered if there was anything I had to do or watch, but I couldn't think of anything. I decided that it would probably be good to get some exercise anyway. I was only worried about going into the big city, but I was trustful that Mr. Monk would protect me. So I said, "OK."
It was a nice walk, but Mr. Monk walked very fast. I ask him twice to slow down. He tried to oblige, but then he got back in the rhythm of counting his telephone poles and sped up again. So I caught up to him and said, "Alright, mister. This isn't working. We gotta link elbows."
He looked like I just asked him to jump off a cliff. "Link elbows?"
"It's either that or hold hands. I believe you'd think this the lesser of two evils."
"Well, why would we have to do either?"
"Because you're walking too fast, and I'm a defenseless girl in a big city, and I don't want to get abducted or kidnaped or raped or mugged."
"Alright then. Get on the left. No, the other left." I put my arm very carefully in his, trying hard not to touch him. All the same, he took a huge breath before starting again. We went a lot slower. He didn't look comfortable. "Do you feel better?"
"Yeah. I know you won't let anybody get me."
"No, of course not."
"I bet there are some people who are scared of you."
"Maybe. Not very many, though." He looked off in the distance, and then he said, "Well, you'll be interested to know that we both were right."
"About what?"
"The murder I was telling you about, with the priest."
"Oh. So, the secretary was both hypnotized and in an alternate personality?"
"Yeah. See, here's what happened." He explained that the secretary was going to a psychologist to help her control her weight. He used hypnotism on her, but when she was under that state, she developed another personality. According to the psychologist's notes, it was an aggressive and hostile side of her that called itself Lucifer. This psychologist had regular appointments with her, but he had a second agenda. He channeled Lucifer's anger toward her church. This psychologist was rather fanatical.
"So, what happens now? I mean, one part of her will never really know or understand that she killed a man. She's guilty and innocent at the same time. What do you do?"
"She's getting rehabilitation therapy. The doctor was arrested. But you know, if you didn't think of multiple personalities, he might have gotten off."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, we probably would have questioned him, but he couldn't be found liable because a person under hypnotism can't do anything against their moral code. So we would assumed that she was just a cold-blooded killer and sent her to jail."
"But what does that have to do with me?"
"Sue, I would never have considered D.I.D., and I don't know anyone who would. It's just too rare."
"Well, even when I said it, it didn't sound plausible. But it was an option, wasn't it? Look, this was a fluke. I can't solve mysteries. I can't even solve Encyclopedia Brown." He looked at me strangely. "I know, that's not your generation. It was a series of little kiddie mysteries that you would find laughable."
"Don't be down on yourself. I think you're pretty good."
I was speechless. I think I said "Thank you" eventually, but I was reeling. Coming from him, that's high praise.
Monker–Happy Belated Birthday. I was hoping to be done with my thesis, but I'm still working on it. I'm trying to find time to write for fun, though.