Monday, August 12, 2013

Under the House

I hope my friend won't mind if I steal her status for you:

"Crazy comes in all forms... I just hope it doesn't show up on my doorstep someday."

I wanted to tell her that crazy lives under house and comes up through the floor as a nag and a temper tantrum. Crazy screeches around you on the interstate and gives you the finger. Crazy boxes you in in the parking lot and yells at you in the library. Crazy sneaks in at 4:18 in the morning when you've realized the mistake you can't undo. Crazy is there, always silently waiting outside your door. But crazy is  deep inside your own soul. Crazy is there too, just beyond the darkness.

When you're lucky, or maybe just smart, kindness rules and crazy becomes the injured and ignored child that you were, when you needed someone most and he didn't come along until you were twenty-six years old and you had nearly given up. And at that moment, you could look at the top of his head and know that this is a kind man, and that maybe, between the two of you, you could keep crazy at bay, outside, on the road where crazy belongs.

Thank you for listening, jules

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