Down the Rabbit Hole

This weekend I got the chance to catch up with some old friends, including my she-pal Kathy Grunditz (KG around these parts). Kathy expressed her concern for me that I am becoming simply too weird. She said that the positive reinforcement that I receive from this blog, along with the fact that I now have a girlfriend and don’t need to worry about maintaining a facade of normality has caused me to fall into the deep end.

This is very interesting, and it may well be true.

I know for a fact that I’ve always had a very strange and twisted internal monologue, and that the things that really make me laugh have always been things that are excessively bizarre and unnerving. I haven’t always been tremendously confident in sharing that with more than a few people, however. This blog began relatively innocuously, trying to write humorously about situations that everybody can relate to. I didn’t find my writing very rewarding, however, until I allowed my words to follow the rabbit trails of alienation and insanity in my own mind. It’s also true that Bridgette doesn’t really seem to mind how strange I can be sometimes. There are moments when she seems to outright enjoy it. This has definitely been liberating for me, as I no longer need to heed the repeated warnings of my mother to be a gentleman or to treat women with “dignity” and “respect”. I can now go off on hour-long tirades on work or bark belligerently at them about eating 700,000 Fig Newtons without fear of rejection.

There is perhaps a danger that all this might go too far. I suppose that I might end up journeying down the farthest reaches of where my mind will take me. Maybe someday when I’m married and I no longer care about anything, I’ll spend my days residing in an elaborate system of forts and tunnels that I created in my living room out of couch cushions and loaves of bread. The forts will have defense mechanism designed using simple machines like levers, pulleys and inclined planes. I will be wrapped from head to toe in swaddling clothes by my wife, at my behest. Then the entire room, as well my body will be coated with a generous layer of Crisco, to allow me to glide and flop about my tunnels with maximum viscosity. My communication will grow increasingly autistic, as I will become unable to relate with other human beings on any level apart from being punished physically. My internal monologue will become distressingly audible. Rather than acknowledging my wife’s existence, I will become more interested in elaborate scientific experiments designed to determine how many cracker crumbs will fit in my belly button. A deep part within my soul, a fragment still trying to appear normal will then remember Kathy’s fateful words, but it will be too late. I should have listened to her, as usual. All has now been lost.

So I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.

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22 Responses to Down the Rabbit Hole

  1. lauren says:

    FIRST, haha, it’s my turn now!!

  2. lauren says:

    again, you ae going to have to look like the guy in the picture below if your future wife is reading this. i hope for your sake she is not. you are not supposed to let on how you really are until it’s too late for her to turn back. but maybe she will not read this entry.

  3. Nancy R says:

    LOL…I enjoy your inner monologue, I wish it were an outer monologue. With little speakers connected to your shoulders-or better yet hidden in your custom made vests. And electrodes connected to your temples, forehead, and back of your head.

  4. Roger says:

    I’ve built a fort in the dining room “for the kids I was babysitting”. I like the idea about the Crisco, though.

  5. Uosdwis R. Jawoh says:

    FIFTH!!!

  6. Geof says:

    If y’all’re going to blame someone, blame me. :)

  7. *tami* says:

    so… you’re saying you want to be a maggot?

  8. lauren says:

    i saw this talk show that had this woman who was like 1000 pds, seriously no exaggerting. anyway, you should invent this system, i bet it would help her a lot. she can’t get out of bed as is.

  9. Adam says:

    Holy shit that was weird.

  10. kevin sawyer says:

    When I was young, I asked my mom for a He-man figure. She bought me She-ra, princess of power, and some Constructs (Construx?). I tried to sell the doll at a garage sale 5 years later for $1. Someone offered 50 cents… I refused. She-ra is in my toy trunk as we speak.

  11. lauren says:

    i wasn’t allowed to have anything to do with she-ra, or wonder woman. anything with a strong women beating up boys was off limits. but i loved transformers and the like

  12. Jamie says:

    Kevin-

    that explains so much

    Peter. Heed Kathys words. I didnt. now i live in ohio.

    nuff said

  13. dave says:

    Mmm. She-ra was hot. I wouldn’t mind having her in my toybox.

    I don’t know what that means.

  14. KG says:

    This made me laugh so hard my boss asked me what was going on. So I read it aloud in the Evergreen office. We all laughed together. I guess wierdness has its upside.

  15. peter.. you are my kind of man.. if you know what I mean….

  16. peter says:

    I find it incredibly gratifying that this was actually read aloud at my church’s office. :)

  17. Chrissy says:

    Nice Caddyshack reference.

  18. Adam says:

    Man, I write about important theological truths, and church office could care less. But when Peter writes about forts, bread, and Crisco, he gets read aloud to all the elders.

    That’s it.

    I’m leaving the Rock.

  19. lauren says:

    hey adam, i care and that’s all that matters. as my great grandmother used to always say, “they’re dumb and you’re not!”

  20. Adam says:

    Thanks for caring, Lauren. It helps to know that someone out there loves you and thinks you’re special ;)

  21. ted says:

    Well adam I think it is time you learned that important things are what makes the world suck. Incoherant babbling is the sole redemption is this hell hole of a world. So keep writing Peter. Your mind sets me free!

  22. Your_Roommate_Andrew says:

    Dam it Peter!!!! I figured it was you, but I just didn’t have any proof.

    For cyring out loud. You do realize that Crisco doesn’t come out of carpet right? I’ve had 5 different cleaners in here trying to get your greese laden belly prints out of the carpet and cushions.

    Please. Please Please get married or something. You’re begining to become to expensive of a room mate.

    Andrew

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