my own brand of crazy

I keep telling someone dear to me that I am crazy. Which is funny for several reasons: 

a. It’s not like this is some big secret. He knows me. He’s seen me in a variety of situations. I’d have to wager that he already knows how bloody fucking crazy I am. It’s sort of one of those things I think people can pick up off of me. Not that I mean it’s contagious; just that it sort of resonates off of me. One girl I worked with years ago used a phrase I have since borrowed and loved: I’m touched with fire. (thanks for that Emily) 

b. It’s funny that I keep telling him, reminding him, in case he’d suddenly forgotten. In case he ran into a wall of Alzheimer’s and couldn’t wipe it all off of him, and now he’s miraculously oblivious to all my nutty antics and wacky behaviors. And just in case he isn’t completely scared off from me yet, why don’t I remind him again of what a psycho nut job case I am? ’Cause that’ll reel ’em in every time. Who doesn’t love a crazy chick? 

c. Who am I kidding? I throw this around, this phrase “I’m crazy” like it’s a special badge, or a golden ticket to a carnival that includes flying elevators and chocolate mixed with things that ought not to be mixed with chocolate and men who wear strange hats. I wear my little crazy badge like it’s something I’ve earned in the Girl Scouts (though really i never was a Girl Scout. i tried to be a Blue Bird for about one day, but the lady scared me off. still, i like their cookies) But really, anyone can earn the Crazy Girl Scout Badge. It’s not all that hard. 

d. And that’s the thing. Aren’t we ALL crazy, when it comes right down to it? We are “crazy in love”, because really how else can it go? Love makes our minds completely silly; we can’t remember what we’re supposed to be doing. We forget to eat. We can’t sleep. And then if it ends badly, we go crazy with upsetness. We want to die. We want revenge. We want to disappear into the atmosphere like the bubbles in a Coke commercial. And if it isn’t love making us crazy, it’s our goddamn relatives, because who doesn’t have some crazy nuts in their family tree? (sorry about the curse word there, whew. it just fit right in so nicely) But everyone has that dad that drinks too much, or the uncle that’s just a little too stalkery, or the kleptomaniac grandmother. Ok fine, I’m talking about my family, but it COULD be yours. Or maybe yours is the sister that sleeps with every breathing thing, or the brother that has to be better than everyone else at everything else. Whatever, when you mash us all together in a family reunion, there are fights and words and bruised egos, and they all make us crazy in the end. 

e. And that’s what happens. We are all crazy in the end. Maybe not certifiable (speak for yourself. i’m trying to get that padded room with the view, so don’t EVEN try to claim it) Maybe not all of us have to take meds (mine aren’t even very fun colored. grrrr…) Maybe some of us try to pass ourselves off as ‘normal’ (i’m completely over that stage of life, thus the Crazy Badge wearing episodes) But when we get right down to it, we all still do the some crazy things we tell ourselves not to do. Fall in love again. Open our hearts up to people. Hope in the future. Believe in the impossible. Trust in the beauty of another day. Crazy. Just like everybody else.  And that’s ok. I just have my own special brand of crazy. 

Advertisements

About denelle

writer. artist. ponderer.

Posted on April 28, 2010, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: