A side of crazy

This weekend has been a bit of a whirlwind. Not only have I been drugged up to the nines (thanks go out to my dentist) and freshly missing a wisdom tooth, but Mark and I had to move out of the Manly-P and into his parents’ house. The tears have stopped now, thanks for asking.

I also managed to drag my swollen mouth to a birthday and a house warming and did my best impression of the worst guest ever by refusing all food and alcohol while aggressively gesturing towards my face. Which is actually only half-way removed from how I usually behave.

And I let the crazy out a little. And by a little, I mean people were scaling buildings and leaving rooms to avoid talking to me.

Don’t worry; I’m the type that doesn’t get a hint. In fact, I felt that demonstrating the crazy wasn’t sufficient so I also went around actively convincing everyone that I’m a lunatic. Several people left my company with the impression that they may see me on the news in the future throwing cats (or maybe teeth) at Ricky Lee.

The most direct way to do this was to strike up a conversation that went a little bit like this.

Lovely sane person: [Person I’m seeing] likes heavy metal and death metal.

Me: Everyone’s a little crazy. I used to be obsessed with Metallica when I was thirteen. Did the crazy hair and “Shit Happens” shirts* and all.

Lovely sane person: Oh…

Me: I’m well crazy though. I have so many crazy things about me that even the crazies are scared of how crazy I am [or something along those lines].

Lovely sane person: Oh…

I won’t take you through the full conversation. Especially since lovely sane person might be reading…and that’s just uncomfortable. But I will say that I spent the next hour or two listing, oh yes listing all of the things that are crazy about me (to several people).

Since it’s not fair for you to miss out here is just a sample:

• I hate feet. So much so, that I would rather chew gravel than see or partake in any part of the mouth nearing any part of the foot. 
• Writing the above sentence filled my mind with images of feet and now I won’t be able to eat lunch.
• It drives me insane when people are slow. On several occasions I’ve had to restrain myself from jumping behind the counter of a store or cafe and just doing things myself.
• If I realise I’m talking rubbish I won’t stop. I’ll continue to mumble incoherently under my breath, just loud enough for people to hear that I’m emitting sound, but not loud enough for them to be able to decipher what I’m actually saying.
• I mentally edit just about all of the emails I receive. Not for anyone’s benefit and not because they’ve asked. Sometimes I’ll reply leaving the changes in there. 
• I compulsively re-read emails that I’ve just sent. 
• I once suggested to a cafe owner that he should start a “hair jar”. 
• When I was getting my wisdom tooth extracted I snorted because I was wondering whether pulling teeth was the dentists’ equivalent of popping pimples (which led me to imagine what their faces were like behind the blue masks). The sound I made was audible enough for the dental assistant to assure me that I was “doing well” and that they “nearly had it” which made me snort again.
• I like popping pimples and also peeling sunburn off myself but it repulses me when other people do it. But not all people. Just some.

And I think that’s enough for this blog therapy session. Thanks for reading.

* Actually my sister did the “Shit Happens” shirt, I was never cool enough and although it had never happened, I didn’t want to be the first person in the history of schools to be completely flushed down the toilet for being a try hard. Instead I just painted my nails black and, like, didn’t brush my hair. Dangerous!