Just a little bit crazy

I’m not hot on the idea of being locked in a room with padded walls, but aside from that possible culmination of the crazy career path, the insane gig doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. It would definitely work for a hobby. This is not such a stretch, I mean… most people are at least a little bit crazy already.

You don’t believe me? The only way to see for sure is to have your actions taped for several hours without you knowing it. (If any governmental agencies are listening, this isn’t a suggestion. Big Brother baaaaaad.)

Most people look unbalanced when they are candidly rendered on film. Imagine if you could get the inner text, the thought processes with their little loop sequences, the weird spaces and blips, and those fun rudimentary observations. “Her nose looks like a caterpillar.” We’re all basically quantum, you know? That fuzzy, foamy stuff much like a telly on the blink. We churn out a lot of meaningful dialogue for the sake of others, but inside it’s a pretty baffling free-for-all.

I have been typing about half an hour and I’ve turned the light off and on half a dozen times. The amount of light isn’t quite right, it’s too bright, and then too dark. I open the blinds, turn off the lamp, come back to write. Turn on the lamp, sit down again. Type, fidget, then close the blinds. Write a bit, then go over, and raise the blinds all the way before turning off the lamp. Sit down. At some point the blinds get closed at the same time the lamp is off, and I throw the whole project over for a nap.

Have you ever really looked at a banana peel? The inside is like a map of some weird country of rivers. But that’s the peering, analytical brain. There’s the other brain that toys with the mushy thing, because it’s… mushy. One side smooth and nice, the other soft and increasingly slimy. I touch it, and touch it. It’s gotten damp and gluggy. Twenty minutes later, I’ve been watching a show on… prairie song-birds? My hand is covered with grunge de banana. Why am I touching it? It feels fairly unpleasant now, but I’m still in this tactile communion like a weird sort of fruit worshipper. This is what I’m saying.

The desire to touch is big for me. I think my tastes were early formed by faces looming over me in a crib, because I get the twitch to take hold of certain chins and yank. I wanna tweak it. I wanna go up and give it a subtle, little twist. The nice, firm chin is difficult to ignore.

When you are near a pane of glass, don’t you wanna splay your fingers and place your palm against the cool surface of it? Doesn’t that feel sort of necessary? I need to crunch down on things when I’m stressed out, so my diet is peppered with corn-flakes and cups of ice. Chewing ice can pretty reliably drive other people right off the edge. It has a fingernails-on-the-chalkboard quality to it.

And that always makes me feel better. Irritating others is kind of life-affirming. You can’t doubt your own impact in the world when you’re making the veins stand out purple in somebody’s neck. If I go turn off the light, I wonder if I can still see your billowing rage. Just stay there, and molest your banana peel. Once you’ve calmed down a bit, I have some hot and heavy plans for your chin.


5 thoughts on “Just a little bit crazy

  1. I haven’t even read this thing all the way through and already I have a question. You’ve been turning the light on and off. The amount of light isn’t quite right. Sometimes it is too light and sometimes it is too dark. OK. I’ve got that. But, you haven’t described the relationship between your feeling of too light and too dark and whether or not the light is on, off or in the process of being switched.

    So, could you please describe that relationship?

    Hmm. I’m going to seem impatient if that’s what is coming in the next paragraph.

  2. I like the word “wackadoodle”.

    Here is a short tale about a different word. My sweetie’s cell phone stopped working. I was indifferent to this since I’m a Luddite and refuse to use the things. In addition to my anti-technology ways, I also don’t really like the idea of people being able to call me. If they could do that, then they might be able to tell me what to do. I figure it is best to short circuit that happening right away. Anyway, she decided to take it to the store to get it fixed. The person at the store explained that it was broken. My sweetie knew that. You may recall that that was why she’d taken it in. So, her reaction wasn’t, “Oh. That’s what’s wrong. Thanks for identifying the problem.” Instead, she said, “Yeah. I want you to fix it.” The technician explained that that was not possible. “The phone is wacky-smacky.”

    That tale sprang to my mind when I thought of the word “wackadoodle” which sprang to my mind for obvious reasons.

  3. “We’re all basically quantum, you know? That fuzzy, foamy stuff much like a telly on the blink. We churn out a lot of meaningful dialogue for the sake of others, but inside it’s a pretty baffling free-for-all.”

    A female novelist once observed that women basically think in puddles. You, my friend, might be her exhibit A.

  4. Bongo, that’s just eerie. Did you happen to see the first published draft? It was up maybe an hour, but I changed it, and I included that part, that the level of light was making me think the light was changing my writing.

    wackadoodle is a cool word. I also like ‘akimbo’. I had to wikipedia ‘Luddite’, but it came in handy. I’ve called three people Luddites with varying levels of conviction, since I looked it up.

    Ombudsben- my kingdom for some context. According to the latest entry of ‘Not Exactly Rocket Science’ we aren’t that different, men and women, though it’s a popular held belief that we communicate differently. Maybe thinking in puddles isn’t so bad, but reading it made me think of the puddle that formed under James Hanson’s chair the day he took his walk of shame to the office and came back with different clothes.

  5. It looks shorter. I’ve only had four sips of coffee yet so I can’t be sure.

    I don’t remember anything about light changing your writing.

    8:26 A.M.??? I wrote that at 8:26 A.M.??? It must be GMT.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s