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.