On the best of days, it would be a generous statement to say that I’m just a little bit bonkers. I mean, on average it wouldn’t be inappropriate to expect me to be secretly on the run from men in white jackets that want to take me back to the nice, cozy room with the bouncy walls and the butt darts that make everything glow with a warm and happy sensation. Some days, it would probably even be fair for you to worry that I might be stalking the streets dressed in a bunny outfit and murdering vagabonds with an iron carrot… not that I’ve ever thought about doing something like that, of course…
In fact, there is a certain level of comfort I get from knowing full well that my mind has holes in it. It means that when something disturbing pops in, it can usually just pop back out, too. This is an important defensive mechanism that I have come to rely on as a semi-professional yeti wrangler, even if it is a double edged sword. It’s hard to keep awesome things in the braindome, too. This is, of course, what makes my particular brand of neurosis not all that harmful to the public at large, and limits it to the mere psychological trauma that I inflict on those in my immediate vicinity.
Don’t worry about them. Trust me when I say, they’re very bad people. They kick puppies… and eat hummus. You know what type of person eats hummus, right? People that like chickpeas.
Lack of Creative Insanity
So, it probably doesn’t surprise you to find out that I have learned to harness this super power into a great and wonderful gift over the last year or so. I’ve learned how to let my mind wander around and around until if finds something that it can exploit, then I put it here for your entertainment. I hope this relationship is mutually beneficial: You get to laugh at a crazy person, I get to be crazy without the need for industrial strength solvents. Win-Win, right?
That’s why I’m all agitated and bouncy this morning, you see. The last couple of days I have found absolutely nothing worth ranting about. Actually, scratch that, there is plenty of things that are worth ranting about out there, a quick Google News rundown will show that basically everything is wrong with the world, but, nothing is getting caught in my rage net long enough to cultivate into a good, healthy, screaming, rant.
So, basically, what I’m saying is, I have nothing good to write about.
What I don’t know is if that means that I’m maturing as a person and not letting things effect me as much as they used to, or if the holes in my psyche are just getting so big that nothing can stick around in there for long. I’m worried that it’s the second one. The second one means that sooner or later my brains will leak out and I’ll just sit around staring at the walls and giggling…
… I mean more than I do now.
God, I hope I’m not maturing as a person, that’d be a fate worse than death…