I admit without any sort of embarrassment that the title refers solely to me! Hey, this blog is about me after all, and so it should come as no surprise that I actually reference myself continually and with no effort to conceal the fact that I am, indeed, the star of my own blog. If I can't shine anywhere else, at least I'll shine to myself. I also admit that this blog was written way too late at night and under the influence of an overexposure to Strong Bad emails.
It turns out that I am insane. Oh yes, my friends, I'm a stark raving lunatic. Okay, I'm not stark naked and I'm not really raving, either, because I'm not foaming at the mouth and it's been a good long while since I said "nevermore." Okay, that was bad, but hey, it was an illustration albeit in words and not pictures of what I'm saying. I've gone crazy.
I think it was a gradual thing. I began to notice it this summer, when school had been out of session for a good month or so and the natural regression into a state of survival only had begun once again to take its reign. That's when I noticed that I was starting to forget what I was doing or what I had said. Now, it wouldn't be too bad if I forgot what I was doing, say, last week. I could even excuse if I was going downstairs to do something and on the way I forgot what I was doing. But no, it is much worse than that. I began to forget what I was doing and saying in the middle of doing or saying it. Imagine my regret when I was halfway through the swing of a hammer, and suddenly my mind caught hold of the idea of a painted pony, running across the skies, reds and oranges dancing across his face. The streaming cape of velvet clouds he wore was a royal mix of purples, oranges, and beautiful pink, only to disappear the moment the hammer made contact with my left hand. And then there followed a string of inexcusable words that definitely did not describe the painted pony running cross't the sky.
It's worse, or at least I feel more crazy and stupid (but more the latter, I'm afraid) when in the midst of a sentence, I trail off and often wander off. I can't imagine but that my friends and family are becoming worried about me. "Yeah, so I was at work, you see," I might say to my mom. "I was thinking that maybe we should do something about. . ." I say while mindlessly wandering off in the direction of downstairs, the vague idea forming in my mind that my sock drawer is out of alignment and must be rectified. Right in the middle of the sentence. I seriously need to work things out.
My favorite moments of craziness, though, are moments when I actually enjoy them, and can find humor out of them. It seems like the voice inside of my head doesn't really have an off switch that I have access to. It just so happens that sometimes that voice in my head gets out of my head, and begins to use my mouth to provide everyone around me with a random display of my brain.
It normally goes like this. I'm in an elevator. I'm alone. I begin to talk to myself. Saying such things as "Oh I don't know, Mr Smith, I don't think Bond would appreciate it." "Oh, I know he would." I answer myself, now assuming the character of Mr Smith, Bond's nearly equal sidekick who kicks every body's butt but is never heard of, ever. This conversation continues on, silently, as people get on the elevator. The elevator in my office is slow, though, and one can only hold so much drama as my personal conversation inside the mind for so long. To be as inconspicuous as possible, I begin to mutter under my breath. You might here such treats as "wapow! Fwish!" or even a "frankly my dear, I don't darn, ever. I hate socks." Yes, I enjoy my personal conversations to the degree that I even forget that others are around, and speak full bore sometimes. Or is it full boar? Anyway, my point is that I have become certifiable.
Just think, though. Now I can become a famous writer so easily. I was so worried that I would never have any sort of personal or mental issue strong enough to be considered a truly great writer, but now that I'm insane, I won't have any problems at all!
Mwa ha ha ha ha!
As a disclaimer, I'm not really certified, not yet at least, and hope never to become so. My sympathy is to all people who actually suffer from diseases that might actually make them have more than one personality, or personality problems, or whatever. I feel that I've been very blessed in this category, and hope to help anyway I can for those who may not be quite so blessed.
2 comments:
Okay, so I know we were having a discussion the other day about how many famous writers had some serious mental issues and such . . . but that doesn't mean that you have to go adopting your own mental issues just to invite that kind of greatness.
I mean, I'm pretty sure C.S. Lewis wasn't terribly cracked or anything . . .
Sometimes I feel the same way about the poetry I write. I write what I feel at the time and then after it is published people come up to me and say "What does it mean?" and I say "I don't know, but when you figure it out let me know".
Strong Bad can make people's brains turn to mush, even if it isn't late at night. And I speak from personal experience. Although, the later at night it is, it seems to become funnier and funnier even if it isn't that funny.
'Go Teen Girl Squad'
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