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The Black Sheep of the Net
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Crazy and Together
7.15.2003 by , every Tuesday.
Here are two vaguely amusing, vaguely sad stories that are not presently autobiographical, fyi. Hope you enjoy. Also, on an unrelated note, please write a letter.
Crazy
I suppose I've always been a little nervous, but a few years ago I became increasingly paranoid that I was in the process of losing my mental faculties. One day I decided to settle the matter once and for all. I went to the local library and took out a book called Insanity in Our Modern Times.
I poured over the descriptions of various disorders, from the commonplace (Bipolar Disorder) to the quaint and rare (Lesser Bridge's Parrot-Nosed Seratogenic Atrophy). Eventually I arrived on Page 53 of Chapter Six, "Sane or Insane?" There I encountered the following paragraph:
Determining whether a patient qualifies as "insane" is by nature a fantastically complex task. However, throughout varied populations worldwide, one constant appears evident: the insane are generally not aware of their condition. Therefore, if one finds oneself asking, "Am I insane?", one is, most probably, not.
What a lifeline! Suddenly I had a sort of barometer for my mental state. I immediately scurried about asking every single person I knew if they believed me to be crazy. Each one said no. This reply provided an initial rush of satisfaction, although the effect swiftly faded. Soon I cared only that I managed to ask the question of someone. Once I had run out of friends, relatives, and acquaintances, I began asking complete strangers. Vendors, truckers, policemen on the street, even carnies at the Fall Fair lent reluctant ears to my query. I quit my job and spent my savings traveling around the world asking every new person I met whether they felt me to be a bit off kilter. Finally, savings exhausted and strength failing, I returned to my small house to eat what I could from my dilapidated vegetable garden.
At first I was distressed with the pittance of new faces in my neighborhood. The supply was simply not enough to keep up with my demand. Recently, however, I have discovered a new source of validation. Although fire hydrants and other inanimate objects don't technically have ears, they are very patient and attentive. Every day I thank my lucky stars that I can be sure I am quite normal.
Together
One morning I woke up to your familiar warmth and felt instantly uneasy. Something had changed, and for the worse. In attempt to banish the discomfort I pulled you close and wrapped you in my arms. I felt fine until lunch, when the feeling returned with a vengeance. I rushed to your workplace and pounced on you in your cubicle, hugging you tight. I hugged you three times during dinner and eight times before bed. The hugging continued the next day, and soon became an addiction; I needed to hug you every hour, then every ten minutes, to feel all right. I devised creative reasons for dropping by your workplace or entering the bathroom during your long showers. I was devastated whenever you went to visit friends. I pondered altering space-time so that I was always, always hugging you, every microsecond of every second of every hour of every day. When I found myself looking for support groups I decided it was time to talk to you about the problem. I followed you to your best friend Mike's house and stood outside for half an hour. At last I worked up the nerve to burst through the door; running down the hall towards the bedroom I shouted, "I hugged you more and more every day but it didn't make me feel less empty". When I saw you lying there with your beautiful eyes I was instantly repentant. I opened my arms for one last hug but found that they were too short to wrap around you and him together.
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