I’ve had a several stressful run-ins with fake people. I mean, they seemed real, but they weren’t actually authentic empathetic or logical. It made me seem crazy, but I’m not crazy. I was crazy once. They locked me in a room a rubber room with rats. The rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. The rats make me crazy.
I’m not real sure when I heard the above, but I’m sure it was in high school. It’s a fun way to talk about being crazy. We were. Except we weren’t. We liked to be fake crazy. I like to be fake rude or fake angry and get into fake fights by the way. Good stress relieve. You’ll no I’m being fake because I actually don’t want to be any of those things. It’s hard to tell. I know.
Some people are just difficult. I don’t want to deal with them. There’s some that I will deal with out of necessity and proximity to a goal. I don’t know. It’s early. I’m awake and typing at the computer. I should make a pot of coffee. Some say I write good. Well, not right now. I’m going back to bed.
This is what it is. You know at the end of some tv shows the main character is writing in a journal and they narrate the journal to end the episode. Two shows that I can think of that did this, Sex in the City and Doogie Howser M.D. This is this blog. I’m just the end of the episode narrator talking about lessons learned over the course of the episode and you’re reading it. Like a dummy. Actually, I don’t think anyone is reading this. Crazy? I was crazy once.