Yesterday I posted a story.  I joined the {W}rite of Passage group, to which I feel woefully inadequate.  And my story yesterday?  Frustrated me.  It felt empty and hollow.  I’m pretty good at jabbering on about my life and my feelings, but making up a story…not really my forte.

It’s not that I don’t have an active imagination.  I do.  A strange, wild, crazy place inside my head.  And there are times that I broadcast my thoughts, but there are other times that I struggle.  Struggle to share what I’m thinking.  Struggle to get the words out the way I want them to come out.  Struggle to explain what I really mean.

That strange, wild, crazy place in my head?  It’s usually full of crazy and rather morbid thoughts.  For example, let’s say that I’m chatting with someone online.  We’re knee-deep in conversation, and all of a sudden they just aren’t responding.  What’s your first thought when that happens?  Maybe the phone rang.  Or they had to go the bathroom.  Or a child started screaming “I need help wiiiiiping”.  Or they knocked over a half-empty diet coke can.  Any of these are common, natural occurrences (at least at my house).  I should expect it to be something like that.  But no, not me.  I immediately think, “OMG! someone broke into the house and has them at gun point.”  and heaven forbid the next sentence they type be even remotely out of the ordinary. You know, something really cryptic like “had to let the dog out to pee and then got stopped by my neighbor”.  Does she really mean that she “had to let the dog out to pee and then got stopped by the neighbor” or is that code for “OMG!  Someone broke into my house and has me at gun point and I need you to call the police!”?

See, I’m crazy.  And definitely not lacking in the imagination department.

But for some reason, people don’t want to know about that kind of crazy.  People don’t want to know that you hear a weird noise and look at the clock so that when the police knock on your door, asking if you heard something, you can not only tell them yes, but the exact time the incident occurred.  Or what about when I memorize random licence plate numbers just because the car looks suspicious to me.  Or…well, there’s no point in airing out all my crazy.

So that’s my brand of crazy.  What’s yours?

**Hopefully I’ll do much better with next week’s challenge: The Lunch Box essay.**