Strange… and all I want.
I was talking to Mrs Moosehunter tonight about oddity and why I think I may be at the very least on the lunatic fringe if not on the fully barmy hairpiece. I’m well aware of attention seeking. People who tell everyone they’re depressed and might kill themselves at any moment are, on the whole, people who need to be noticed and feel very lonely, but would shriek and run a mile if you handed them the knife. People who complain about being ill all the time rarely are. They’re hypocondriacs (though often with some other psychological reason). And worst of all, people who say they’re mad are just generally sad and lonely and pathetic and want to be somebody and the only way they can do that is by headbutting lamp posts and telling everyone it’s because they’re mad.
And I realise this is in serious danger of sounding heavy, but there is a reason…
Some people are genuinely ill and some people are just attention seeking. I’ve personally always been an attention seeker. When something’s actually wrong (and note this for future events) I tend to get very quiet and not talk much about it. You’ll notice reading back through my diary that when something’s TRULY bothering me, I don’t actually talk about it until it’s over.
But I think I maybe on the barmy train. And it’s a through train, not stopping at every village.
Mrs M has been commenting tonight on the slightly random and offhand way my brain makes connections. The more I thought about this, the more I realised that it’s true. I can be told we’re having cabbage for dinner and in ten seconds be trying to remember the lyrics for a song by a band that had one hit in the 70s. And it takes at least ten minutes to try and figure out how my brain got there. It’s like the six degrees of Kevin Bacon, but with every subject imaginable included.
Then there’s the soundtrack. I tend to listen to music when I do anything except watch TV where it’s included anyway. And I find myself during life’s most mundane tasks humming the world’s most random tracks. In one notable case, I was humming a track I had never heard. A rather nice lady at work a couple of years ago asked my why I was singing some track or other by Johnny Cash. Simple truth: I have no idea. Never heard it. But I was apparently singing it note-perfect. Essentially, I have the suspicion that my brain treats life as a movie and gives my a running soundtrack.
Then there was the case in point. Mrs M asked me why I thought I might be cracking up and I explained what I did on friday. On the way down the stairs at work I had one of those moments where you’ve just got too much saliva. I’m sure you’ve all experienced this? You suddenly realise that the glands in your mouth seem to be working overtime and you’re in danger of ‘cup-runneth-over’ syndrome. So I stopped half way down the stairs with a sudden attack of too much saliva.
And I promptly started to dribble into a potted plant. I have a short memory at the best of times, but I know I decided to see how long I could dribble for without stopping, because I reached almost a minute, timing it on my watch.
I was not drunk. But I spent a whole minute dribbling into a plant pot.
That cannot be right.
Sign me up… Honestly, produce the commital papers! It’ll just make me smile/ I won’t really resist so long as you give me some crayons and one of those Darth Vader voice-changer masks.
Yours, late at night and a bit confused.
Moosehunter (listening to Shadows Fall, In Flames & Dark Tranquility)