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Sunday is good. I'm doing laundry and cooking and drinking tea that "cleans me out". I'll leave it at that and let you elaborate within your own minds. I'm making stock for chicken and noodles.
There will be fireworks tonight downtown. We might watch from Brent's balcony. I hope we can see them from there.
It's been a good weekend overall. Quiet, with GOOD sex. Yes, I can do the Dr. Ruth voice.
I have very little else to say, except this. Brent and I were talking about "crazy people" on our way to my house this afternoon. It made me cry a little, merely because so many people I know could be described as "crazy' or "a little crazy" or "kinda crazy sometimes". Most of all me. And himself. What hit me emotionally is the urge in my mind to defend the label because you have to be crazy to survive in this world. Without that touch of crazy, you will become a sheep - that same sheep Brent and Janeane Garafalo rant about. Just wanna have kids, drive my minivan to soccer. "Lion King soundtrack? Yep, got it." ( I can't say much, because I bought the soundtrack to Lilo and Stitch the day after I saw the movie.)
Anyway, craziness as defined by the general public is any sort of deviance from the accepted normal parameters of behavior. Drive too fast? Crazy. Smoke a little weed? Crazy. Change jobs at age 45? INSANE. But fuck that, and fuck them. You gotta be a little crazy or you're dishonest with yourself and the rest of the world. Fuck it. I'm not living a lie.
I don't think that we crazy ones are the crazy ones. We're the normal ones, the brilliant variance from human to human that God intended. The rest of them, the sheep, THEY are the crazy ones. Where the fuck is your individuality? Wear your beige and work in your office and make your $75,000 a year. The rest of us will get by on our pittance, or make millions because we've managed to market our crazy as comedy, film, or music. Mostly rock and roll, you know. The Rolling Stones? Absolutely fucking insane. And tell me you DON'T want to be them.
Go on.
Tell me.
There will be fireworks tonight downtown. We might watch from Brent's balcony. I hope we can see them from there.
It's been a good weekend overall. Quiet, with GOOD sex. Yes, I can do the Dr. Ruth voice.
I have very little else to say, except this. Brent and I were talking about "crazy people" on our way to my house this afternoon. It made me cry a little, merely because so many people I know could be described as "crazy' or "a little crazy" or "kinda crazy sometimes". Most of all me. And himself. What hit me emotionally is the urge in my mind to defend the label because you have to be crazy to survive in this world. Without that touch of crazy, you will become a sheep - that same sheep Brent and Janeane Garafalo rant about. Just wanna have kids, drive my minivan to soccer. "Lion King soundtrack? Yep, got it." ( I can't say much, because I bought the soundtrack to Lilo and Stitch the day after I saw the movie.)
Anyway, craziness as defined by the general public is any sort of deviance from the accepted normal parameters of behavior. Drive too fast? Crazy. Smoke a little weed? Crazy. Change jobs at age 45? INSANE. But fuck that, and fuck them. You gotta be a little crazy or you're dishonest with yourself and the rest of the world. Fuck it. I'm not living a lie.
I don't think that we crazy ones are the crazy ones. We're the normal ones, the brilliant variance from human to human that God intended. The rest of them, the sheep, THEY are the crazy ones. Where the fuck is your individuality? Wear your beige and work in your office and make your $75,000 a year. The rest of us will get by on our pittance, or make millions because we've managed to market our crazy as comedy, film, or music. Mostly rock and roll, you know. The Rolling Stones? Absolutely fucking insane. And tell me you DON'T want to be them.
Go on.
Tell me.
