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Thursday, July 17, 2003

We'll be back in two and two

Last night as I was preparing for some night-putting, a michievious groundhog made his way into my house. He stole my ball, ran around with it for a while, and then grabbed one of my guitars. You know what he was singing and dancing to?

"I'm Alright" by Kenny Loggins.

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the concern. I really do. I've learned even in the last six months that I am more loved than I ever knew I was. With that in mind, please know that there is nothing seriously wrong with me. I have not lost my mind. I have not gone off the deep end. I'm not depressed.

Those who love me have noticed symptoms of my demise. I have snapped a couple of times at work this week. Frankly, I believe the subjects of my snapping were snap-worthy. Out of character for me? Absolutely. Unsnappable? I don't think so. Sometimes even the most level-headed of people repress frustration too long and lets a good one go. It's therapeutic.

I've been writing really odd things in my blog. I know, I know. But give me a break. You're reading my diary. Again, it's therapeutic.

I haven't been sleeping very much. I've never slept much. Too much sleeps brings too many freaky dreams. Too much sleep, frankly, makes me sleepy. My muscles get sore. My head feels like it is wrapped in cheese cloth. I think sleep affects me like psychotropic (sp?) drugs affect the insane. Under control, but really, really numb. Plus, I have never been one to sleep at night. There is freedom in the solitude of 3AM. I'd much rather stay awake until four and sleep until noon. My life doesn't allow that right now. So, I sleep for five or six hours instead of eight. I seem to be getting by just fine.

Lest ye think I doth protest too much, I will allow that I'm likely going through some sort of phase. I may be acting a bit out of character. However, frankly I think my character has never been a really admirable one anyway. My psyche is just experimenting. I'm allowing it to happen.

But, really. Let's put this in perspective. In Orlando this week, TSA officials pulled a loaded .22-caliber Derringer out of a teddy bear carried by a ten year old boy. Yesterday, an octagenarian put his foot on the gas instead of the brake and plowed though a crowded farmers market. The cops have a arrested a guy for pretendeing to be a security guard, then fondling a young girl. And Tiger Woods lost his ball on his first shot at the British Open.

We live in a world where the crockpot is all to shit on a regular basis. People are going crazy with the ice everywhere we look. (Forgive the inside-joke catch phrases from my youth). Life, for a lot of people, is simply screwy.

My life is pretty damned good. I'm just experimenting with my future. Like any experimentation, it has the possibility of some strange side-effects.

No worries. The groundhog is just getting warmed up.

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