I was going to post something this morning about writing, or education, or the snow, and then I was socked in the head by Craziness. Full on. Full moon. Craziness. You know, I didn’t realize I had anything in common with the moon. I’m not big and round. I find orbiting dull. I’m too polite to eclipse anything and I’m not passive enough to be eclipsed. And yet, I seem to have an uncommon pull on the Crazy. Just like the moon.
Granted, we’re all a little crazy. But some of us are better about keeping our crazy in a bottle, and only letting it out in appropriate settings, like say, our own homes. When only our family is around. Because they’re genetically predisposed to forgiving our crazy anyhow. Or our spouses. Who are legally obligated to put up with it. But when people go out into public wearing Crazy Garb complete with flashing badges announcing they’re from Crazy Town, they have to expect a little smack down.
Because honey, I don’t live in Crazy Town. So I don’t know all your rules and by-laws. And I am sure not abiding by them. So if you don’t want to get hurt, you better zip up that Crazy and put it in your pocket.