Crazytown
A couple of days ago someone hurt my feelings.
I didn’t take it well. I was angry. No, that’s not right — at first, I was sad, then, five minutes later, I was pissed off.
I told my best bud, Jean Luc, all about it. He listened quietly to my story before asking, “…So what else is going on with you?”
“Oh no,” I thought, “he thinks I’m crazy!”
Could he be right? Am I overreacting here? Have I finally lost my damn mind? It’s completely possible. Given my recent health problems, I haven’t been thinking clearly. The pain made me supercranky; just ask my boss, Mr. B. Or better yet, ask Jean Luc. Yesterday, he told me, “You need to settle down.”
Whether I misinterpreted the situation or not, I was sad — and I wasn’t about to deny it. I let myself wallow in it! I moped around, replayed every single woulda/coulda/shoulda possibility in my head. None of it helped, of course, but I did it anyway.
Later that day, Jean Luc invited me over to his home for dinner. That was very generous given how unpleasant I must have been to be around. I had a twelve hour long headache, throbbing muscle pains up and down my neck and shoulders. The ibuprofen and vicodin weren’t working at all. I probably should have gone home, but I didn’t. I wanted to be with pleasant, caring people who liked me and wanted me around.
Towards the end of the evening, Jean Luc’s wife, the always fabulous, Maria, asked me what I was up to. Still in full self-pity mode, I told her who hurt my feelings and how. She replied, “Oh, that’s awful…It would be one thing if blah, blah, blah, but blah, blah, blah, then blah, blah, blah…I’m sorry.”
In that moment, with my splitting headache, I felt so comforted by her words…because she agreed with me! I couldn’t be crazy if she agreed with me! Right? Right! Yea! Even better, Jean Luc, piped in with, “He’s slimey…”
This morning, I jumped out of bed feeling good. Sure, I got kicked in the teeth. And yes, that sucked. But I finally realized I did nothing wrong in this situation. I was just myself. If someone can’t appreciate me and treat me right, then that person doesn’t deserve my friendship. Right?
When I spoke with my friend, Jerry, this morning, I told him what happened, especially my self-doubts.
“Dude,” I exclaimed, “I really thought I might have overreacted! I’ve been so wrong about so many things lately. I really thought I might be crazy.”
He said, “Oh no, Flo…I know crazy. Crazy is a friend of mine. And you’re not crazy!”
(Note: Jerry spent the last thirty years in theatre, so he really does know crazy.)
“I don’t know, man, sometimes I’m not so sure. Sometimes I think I live in Crazytown.”
“No, you’re not crazy. Sure, you’re driving along the freeway, but you keep passing the exits…Just keep passing the exits, Flo…”
“So I don’t actually live in Crazytown? I’m just Crazytown adjacent?!” I let out one of my huge window-shaking laughs.
“Yeah, you’ll pull off occasionally to get a burger, but you get right back on the freeway and drive out of town.” With a little too much knowing in his voice, he said, “The burgers are really good in Crazytown…That’s how they get you.”
So there you have it. I may not actually be crazy, but I do appear to be crazy tolerant.
Cuckoo-nutty Flo
Add comment March 24th, 2006