This Ain't Your Patsy Cline Kinda Crazy

"If we weren't all crazy we would go insane."  ~ Jimmy Buffett, Changes in Latitudes

 

(Amen to that!)

 

Right? I mean, with the exception of "the new Jeep vehicle is such an abomination that villagers should chase it down the road with pitchforks and torches," I honestly don't think truer words have ever been spoken.

 

(*smacking head*)

 

Tell me I'm wrong. Do you honestly think you could get through life without some kind of neurosis? I don't. Dictionary.com defines normal as "conforming to the standard or the common type," or "approximately average in any psychological trait, as intelligence, personality or emotional judgment." I don't want to be normal.

 

(Trust me, you're not.)

 

Normally I would take that jibe as an insult, but not in this instance. Perhaps almost as true as Buffett's words is the notion that conformity breeds contempt. Normal is boring, Normal doesn't allow for emotional outburst, for excitement, for nonsense. As much as we may emphatically despise the lows, we are similarly exhilarated by the highs. You need to be. You need to have range, discrepancy. Average psychology simply doesn't cut it.

 

(Ok, so… what now?)

 

I don't know. I'm simply saying that the word isn't normal, and in order to face the nonsense that fills our days I think we need to be a little less than normal, too. Normal sensibilities wouldn't be able to handle the death of a loved one, or a beloved entertainment icon. Normal couldn't deal with child terrorists. Normal would lose its proverbial sh*t if faced with abnormality on a daily basis. You need to be a little crazy to prevent yourself from going insane.

 

(I hate it when you make sense.)

 

I know you do. To be fair, Jimmy Buffett said it, I'm just elaborating and agreeing.

 

(Touché, pussycat.)

 

I am crazy. I am, I truly believe that. I write nonsense, I make up a parenthetical heckler to emphasize my points. I have what some would likely call an unhealthy infatuation with Star Wars, Jeeps and Olivia Wilde. But you know what? Does that make my insane? I don't believe it does. I think it makes me rounded. Because carrying those buckets o' crazy helps me deal with the heavier stuff, like being alone, losing loved ones or friends, or being able to help others cope with the same. Granted, sometimes my yin and yang are a little skewed, but who's aren't?

 

(*snicker* You said yang.)

 

See? Normal people wouldn't make that joke. Normal people would scoff and deride such silliness. It might even anger them, irrational as such anger would be. They would read this and likely think I should be committed.

 

(Or at least medicated.)

 

Exact… HEY!

 

(*gigglesnort*)

 

You need to be a little crazy to see the humor in life and not let the burdens of this world weigh so heavily upon your shoulders that the pain of carrying it drives you to madness. Because it will, undoubtedly, break you, destroy you and drive you insane.

 

UNLESS….

 

While bearing that weight you're still able to still smile, crack a joke, or scoff. Pain? This isn't pain. I once was forced to watch Keanu Reeves "act." You wanna talk about pain….

 

(There is something so terribly wrong with you.)

 

And yet, here I am. Crazy? Most assuredly. Insane? Not even close. And yet here you are, reading my words, hopefully laughing, hopefully smiling, and hopefully relating.

 

(I… dammit.)

 

Being crazy ain't so bad after all, is it? Being a little crazy lets you dance, wear silly hats, write fanciful stories and cry honest tears. It lets you scream silently, weep openly, laugh hysterically until you can longer breathe. You're right, Forrest, stupid is as stupid does, but crazy is as normal doesn't. And I don't want to do as normal doesn't.

 

(Is that a double negative?)

 

That's a normal person's response.

 

(Right. Sorry. Um… Applesauce?)

 

*grins*

 

 

 

© 2014. J.J. Goodman. All rights reserved