I walked outside tonight and felt the thick post-storm air. I smelled the damp grass and the damp soil. I watched my dog smell them, too. I thought, I’m not crazy.
A lot of thoughts run through my head each day. Thoughts about myself, about others, about clothes, about accents, about tans, about books, about words, about numbers, about talents, about yoga, about writing, about an itch, about yarn, about things I want to do, about things I’ve done. It’s like rapid fire. It’s like random fire.
When I tell you all this, you have to believe that I’m not crazy. At least, I don’t think I’m crazy. Maybe I am. Maybe this is all one big crazy firing in my brain. Maybe my brain is tricking me into thinking I’m not crazy. Or maybe it’s tricking me into thinking I am.
When I was a little, I asked questions a lot. What’s your favorite color? What’s your favorite number? What’s your favorite name? What’s your favorite color? What’s your favorite number? What’s your favorite name? I repeated my questions. I had to have answers. I still ask a lot of questions. I’m not a very decisive person.
Have you ever been sitting, having a conversation, and all of a sudden your brain drags the image of someone, or something into the forefront of your thoughts and it’s everything you can do not to start talking about them or it without reason?
I really don’t think I’m crazy. My mom says I’ve always had an active imagination. My husband says that too. I get scared easily…too easily. Things creep into the crevices of my brain and live there for years past the point where they should have been pushed out by mental and psychological maturity.
Storms are funny just like brains are funny. They’re unpredictable and wild. They can destroy everything in moments, or they can be just strong enough to get the ground ready for things to grow. What’s your favorite kind of weather? I’m not crazy.
