Coming up to ten weeks at the clinic,
where admissions were suspended in mid-March
(I just barely got admitted before the pandemic restrictions).

Tomorrow, is the first week
that the clinic is processing possible new admissions.
Because this clinic is all about voluntary instead of compulsory,
right up to the in-person interview with the admissions director,
the potential patient can say No, and turn around and leave.
This week, on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday,
there is a potential admission scheduled for each day.
Because this is a small clinic with a strong emphasis on
an extended therapeutic 'community,' in which
the patients contribute enormously to the 'community,'
the patients as a collective are watching this closely
and some of us have volunteered to assist, as we may, with
making the new patients welcome.

Because all of these first three applicants come to the clinic
from out of state
(one is from Texas which is a LONG ways from here),
each one must observe a two-week quarantine on the premises.
The clinic has hospital accreditation, albeit this place doesn't look like a hospital in some respects.
And so, with adjustments and adaptations here and there,
it is possible to turn the admit wing of the in-patient residence
into a quarantine area, and such has been done.
Three meals a day will be carried to the patients' little rooms.

I checked in, as one does, with an assigned nurse this morning.
She is one of the young healthy vigorous nurses
(some of the nurses are downright elderly), and
I commiserated with her about the extra work with the new admissions in quarantine.
I observed, "You nurses are going to be run off your feet, bringing them three meals a day."
And she laughed and minimized it, saying,
"it's not like we're breaking rocks!"