Noises

"So oh see those go to...ahhhhhhhhhhh..."

--my desk at work

Good thing my deskmate is used to my strangeness.

Rest

When I use the bathroom at work, I like to rest my head on the toilet paper dispenser. It’s comfortable. Although today I suddenly had the urge to smash my temple on the corner of it. It’s metal. It would have caused severe damage. It’s a good thing that I have learned to control most of my natural impulses.

Daily obsession

New tag:

I get obsessed by things on a daily basis, but that’s only how long the obsession lasts for. This is known as the "cray of the day."

Today's cray: I want to go to Burning Man.

Great day

I want a sweet. A cookie or something. I'm dying. I hate the fact that I've give up sweets for Lent. What was I thinking? I don't have this kind of willpower. I can't handle the sugar withdrawel. Salt is only good if you can follow it with sweet sweet sweetness. Seriously what was I thinking??? I'm being tested.

Proving how much I can go without: what a great day.

Spring

Perhaps if I offer something to the month of March, she won't be bitchy. All I need to do is sweetly explain how cruel the winter is, and how March doesn't want to be anything like her. March wants to be nice and kind to a poor uprooted southern gal. I love you, March. Don't you love me to?

Voicemail

My best friend from home gave my number to a friend of hers from the American Dance something-or-other this past summer. He just moved to the city and doesn't know a lot of people. Plus he's male. And straight, somehow, or this is the speculation. He left me a voicemail and I called him back. Now we're playing phone tag. But I wish I could rewind and listen to the message I left him. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I do recall something that went along these lines:

". . .she told me you would call so don't worry I don't think you're crazy or anything wow that's awkward nevermind anyway . . ."

To myself

"I'm obsessssssed with these raisins . . . obsessssssssed with these raisins."

--in the kitchen at work, no one was around

New plan . . .

New plan to squeeze more exercise into my day:

When walking up the 60-odd steps between the 2nd and 5th floor at work, walk up two steps, walk down one step. Don't turn around, and for heaven's sake, don't let anyone see you! But walk up two, walk down one. It's like going down and up twice. Genius.

To myself

"And a banana!"

--Broome, between Broadway and Mercer

The elevators

I think the elevators at work are crazy, too. They are not a quiet bunch. Usually, when you push the button, you hear the gears and pulleys bitching the whole way to pick you up. I think they’ve gotten ornery and stubborn of late, however—sometimes I push the button and . . . silence. I have waited for over a minute for an elevator. My building only has 5 floors! And 2 elevators! Also, occasionally when you call them, the will arrive for you and just chill. The light behind the button clicks off and you know it is waiting. Then the doors will open and it won’t even be lined up! When you exit too—totally does the same thing. Waits for a good five seconds after arrival, then the floors are lined up.

Preface

It’s almost funny how I have decided that I am crazy. Crazy is not something you ever intend to grow up to be. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that crazy is something that always happens by accident. I don’t know if designating myself as totally nuts does anything to negate my insanity, for if I can recognize that I don’t make any sense whatsoever, can I really be crazy? Whether that is that case or not, I’m going to keep going further and further into the recesses of my thoughts, and I am going to drag you down with me. I mean, I suppose you can stop reading anytime. I can’t promise this will be the fun kind of journey to crazyville. It should be insightful, if nothing else.