Seven Minute Post

Seven minutes.

I have seven minutes to write, and at this point I need to grab every spare moment to dedicate to writing something.  So what is there to say in seven minutes? 

I could tell you how I ran from a patient this morning.  Literally ran.  And hid in a room until it was safe to emerge.  You’re wondering what a patient could do to make me run, right?   He tells bad jokes.  Really, really, really bad jokes that he spits out in a rapid-fire, monotone voice.  At any rate, he was sitting in the waiting area and saw me standing in the hall.  I noticed him bound from his chair and begin to rapidly waddle in my direction (yes, apparently it is possible to waddle in a rapid manner if you have really, really, really bad jokes to share), so I took off down the hall and dove into a room.  I did not move nor breathe until his voice stopped echoing down the hallway.

Narrowly escaped.

I wonder if telling horrible jokes is part of his illness.

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