Here’s the story of being alone, regression and delusional insanity.
This week was my final week with my folks for a while. Yes, mother and father are off on their holidays again and those of you with a very good memory will recall their last jolly venture was but only a few weeks ago.
If you need a refresher, last time they were away, I nearly choked to death on plumes of smoke from an oven that was starting to smoulder. And I nearly destroyed the microwave. Then again, my injuries whilst they’ve been away include a sprained wrist caused by tripping over a Christmas Tree and seeing a rainbow of lights à la ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ after I electrocuted myself from a static charge after a storm. It was a fun experience. I’m sure I can recall hearing the can-can playing. I’ve actually heard that a few times when accidents occur. Maybe it’s the body’s way of telling you you’re close to death and imminent reincarnation as a dancing French lady from the 1830s.
We do strange things when we’re alone. It’s that age-old sense of freedom mixed with boredom. We don’t know what to do with ourselves. Our jollies turn into follies. We start with drinking father’s prized hooch, then we regress to waltzing around the house naked, then we regress to putting makeup on the dog, then we regress to putting metal things into the microwave, and then we regress to digging for oil in the back garden with a spoon. We video blog our oil endeavour to the world and before you know it, doctors are at your home with a straightjacket to take you into care.
That’s happened to me. No, not the medical help part, although many argue that it’s long overdue. No, I’m talking about the sensations of that freedom. I’ve genuinely wondered when I’m alone if there’s gold in my back garden. Here I am, some chump looking for a way in the world when there could be a pot of gold and a cheery leprechaun guarding it that I could put into a hamster cage and keep as a pet. I would call him Tarquin. He would run around on the wheel and generate electricity to charge my electric toothbrush. He would constantly shout a stream of indistinguishable gibberish in a rapid pace in a thick, good old-fashioned Irish accent.
Am I really alone in wanting all this?
Probably. But the question remains: at what point of living alone does the insanity crack to reveal some nice, new, shiny sanity? Because it certainly isn’t in two weeks. It’s a strange feeling and it’s one I hope to go through in the next few weeks. Along with accidents and fleeting, small fires. In fact, those fires are almost a certainty. Maybe I just attract them. Like a sort of reverse ‘moth-to-a-flame’. A ‘flame-to-an-Ally’. One wonders indeed.
By all accounts, it seems like I’ve accepted the ‘what-will-be-will-be’ attitude, and you’re right. Statistically speaking, siding with statistics is better than throwing optimism at the next two weeks. Because statistically speaking, there will be a fire. That’s happened to me every time my parents have been away. I’ll hurt myself. Also happened to me every time my parents have been away.
I’ll also have strange urges. Like an urge to eat all the ice-cream in the freezer to see if the brain-freeze will cause me to trip and enter another dimension whereby I’m me having an urge to eat all the ice-cream in the freezer to see if the brain-freeze will cause me to trip and believe I’m really me in another dimension looking in at me in that dimension, when in actuality, I don’t exist in either as I’ve been hospitalized from a severe case of brain-freeze and find myself comatose, whereby I wake up in another dimension wondering if it’s a good idea to cause a severe brain-freeze. Deciding it is a good idea, I wake up on the kitchen floor confused over what reality I’m in. Thoughts of ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ race through my mind again.
As I’m sure they are through your mind.
Yes, I’ve accepted my fate. Although you shouldn’t. It’s already happened in my mind and that’s enabled me to get on with things. Most people would be out buying a fire extinguisher, but not me. But you should. But I won’t. Because that’s normal for me. And normal for me isn’t normal for you. What I say and do is by no means a foregone conclusion. I’m just a little insane. Wired differently and with the wrong wires.
When it comes down to it, what will be, will be. Although be very worried if you don’t hear from me again…
“A man’s character is his fate”, said pre-Socratic Greek philosopher Heraclitus (535-475).
Peace Out :|:
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