On my way home from work yesterday. It was cold.
This morning it was -10º. Breathing makes my face hurt, and tights under jeans don’t help a damn bit.
Bob is next to me watching a video entitled “Crazy Woman On Airplane.”
My worst fear is interacting with a crazy person. Ever. I’ve bailed on friends in the street to avoid passing by someone who is screaming at themselves. I’ve stood next to strangers, and pretended to know them in order to avoid a crazy person passing by me. I even had a period where I tried to face a crazy person straight on, but nothing made sense, and I was sure that at any moment he was going to turn on me and do something awful.
Even watching the video out of the corner of my eye makes my heart pound.
My old friend, Chris, has a mother who works with the insane at the state hospital. Her theory (which he has explained to me on more than one occasion) is that you have to treat an insane person like they’re trying to put one over on you, and not let them trick you. She believes that somewhere deep inside each crazy person is someone who is just trying to get attention, and you have to call them on it. It’s worked for her, but I can only assume she spends much of her time around the heavily medicated.
I guess my worst fear, really, is someone I care about waking up crazy some day. It happens you know.
A totally unfounded fear, I know. But aren’t most fears totally irrational, anyway? Being afraid is pretty close to being crazy, which explains my behavior I guess.
You know what makes me crazy? The fucking sun in my eyes at work. It used to happen at Whole Foods in Philly, when I was a cashier. I always wanted to make a joke about killing an Arab in the hot, bright sun, but jokes about Camus are pretentious, and given the times, would be first and foremost taken poorly.
I dream about going back to sleep all day, every day. Especially when I am out of the house. But as soon as I get home I decide not to go to bed, because as soon as I fall asleep I’m basically back to dreaming about being back in bed. The most relaxing time of the day, then, is when I’m thinking about how great it’s going to be when I’m back in bed.
Maybe the Bliss Theory of enjoyment doesn’t quite apply here.
Similar to Zack Morris, I had a teacher with the last name Bliss. Mr. Bliss. My friend Scott thought that Mr. Bliss looked like Henry Rollins. I guess he did, as much as a Smiths-loving, high school English teacher could. He taught me how to speak in public (I got the highest grade in that speech class, even though on all the video recordings of my speeches you can hear him quietly chuckling at my poorly timed jokes and pomp), and what the word “metaphysical” means. More importantly, he blew my mind by explaining that holiday vacation only exists in the moments just prior to being released from school. The vacation is all about anticipation. The second the vacation starts, it’s all about dread.