Facing It, Embracing It

This is the sort of thing I am finding in my washing machine these days. A ThermaCell Mosquito Repellent MAT (?) and a bullet.
No. I am not married to a serial killer who stalks people in the swamps. Maybe a cereal killer. You should see the size of the bowl he eats his Cheerios out of.

Anyway, what I have been thinking about today is that I really need to quit calling myself crazy. You know why I have come to this realization?
It is because ALL OF US ARE CRAZY!
Yes, you.
And you and you and you.
Really. You are. And I am too.

Look- it's all a matter of definition. People get wrapped up in so many different types of insanity and yet, for the most part, we don't think of them as such. To me, it is insane to be obsessed with football. Or food foam. Or religion. Or any of the ten million things which humans can become obsessed with that plenty of other folks think of as completely normal. Just because I think that guy over there is a religious nutcake doesn't mean squat. His fellow-faith-minded friends may consider him just an especially pious person. Just because I wouldn't watch a football game on TV if you tied me to a chair and administered IV Valium doesn't mean that 99% of Americans don't think that watching football on TV isn't the most fun a human being can have on a Saturday afternoon.

There are people who are obsessed with golf. And with fashion. And with shopping. And with helping the poor. And with politics. And with making money. And with telling other people how to live their lives. And with justice. And with crime. And with becoming rich and famous. And with celebrities who ARE rich and famous. And with train sets. And with cars. And with chess. And with the music of Stravinsky. And with the books of Danielle Steel. And with gardens and collecting Hummel figurines and with wine and with chickens and with raw food and with trying to contact the dead and with shoes. There are people obsessed with SHOES! Things we wear on our feet. There are even people obsessed with feet. So I hear.

When we fall in love, we are obsessed with the object of our affections to the degree (thanks, Syd) that our brains actually undergo changes one would not normally associate with, uh, normalcy.

And all of this, in our own circle of like-minded people, seems completely understandable and even normal and it's not until the obsession becomes out of hand in one way or another that anyone blinks an eye.

But it's not just that sort of obsessive stuff. It's how all of us do the same things over and over and over again expecting different results. It's how we see things advertised which promise results that we KNOW cannot be true and yet, we find ourselves ordering them or buying them. Hell, why not? What's fifteen dollars or even two hundred and fifteen dollars if we think our fine lines and wrinkles will disappear? Where does our common sense go when a drug promises to allow us to loose ten pounds in two weeks without diet or exercise? No one reads the fine print anyway because we all want to believe! We do! We desperately do.

Anyway, la-di-dah and whatever and frankly, I am as guilty of this sort of behavior as anyone and I bet you are too. One way or another, we all do things, think things, believe things that other people would consider insane.

Look- Mr. Moon is one of the sanest (if not normal)

(Mr. Moon's flip-flop next to mine and I wear a size 8, okay?)

men I have ever known in my entire life. He lives a life which is mostly pretty darn well balanced between work and play and family and yet, this time of year rolls around and I'm finding bullets in my washing machine and my husband is either in the woods or thinking about how soon he can get away and be in the woods again.
Insane?
Well. No. But not quite what I would consider normal but after all these years, I realize it's normal for him.

And it is normal for me to feel crazy and if some days I feel crazier than others, well, hell, that's normal too. At least I KNOW I'm crazy.

I was talking to Mean Aunt Jessie about this a few minutes ago and she agreed that yes, we are all insane, at least a little bit.
"Face it and embrace it!" she said.
"I'm going to quote you on that," I told her.

And so I have.

And I'm going to try and remember that if I wake up and feel crazy, it's okay. Because honestly, my crazy is just a different flavor from yours. And hers. And his.
Okay. There are some REALLY crazy people. (Tea partiers? Newt Gingrich? Sarah Palin? The people who follow them?) and there are people who have mental issues which are far, far from the boundaries of any sort of normal (I know, I have traveled that distance myself) and they are in pain and they need help. I am not unaware of that. Believe me.

But most of us, most of the time, have our...issues...as they say. And we need to remember that. To face it, embrace it, and perhaps do the same for our crazy friends, just as they do it for us sometimes.

All right. That's all. Except for this picture of a katydid.



My porch katydid. I helped him outside just a few minutes ago. I think he was grateful.
And that has nothing to do with crazy.

I am just currently fascinated with katydids. Not obsessed! Not crazy!
I promise.
Completely normal.
For me.

Now I'm going to make some venison meatloaf and get the camo off the line.

And I'll try to remember to search the pockets in the future for bullets.