Crazy, Part 1
I've begun to seriously consider lately that I may be somewhat straight-up crazy. I think maybe I've known this for most of my 29 years. But only recently have I had the guts to put the "crazy" label on it and wonder if I should begin to embrace all that lies within my crazy.

Three things over the past week or so have helped me feel better amongst my own crazy:

1. Boy J took me to see a play. It had nothing to do with my crazy, nor did he know it would be good for me to see. At least I don't think he knew, unless he is smarter than I gave him credit for and knows me better than I thought I'd let him know me thus far. But the play itself spoke to me in my language of crazy. It was called Proof, and it is about a twenty-something girl who spent several years caring for her genius, yet mostly nuts father, until he passed away. During this time she begins (as well as those around her) to question her own state of crazy, wondering if she has inherited any of her father's crazy. They are both geniuses and a lot alike, and it's a beautiful story of a messed up family where there is still love in the struggle to understand parts of life, personality, well-being, and emotional states that don't always make sense to the ones we love who are outside of our head. I loved it. Even the really uncomfortable scenes that showed two people yelling passionately at each other, trying to make sense of each other. It spoke to me.

2. I watched a movie that is quickly becoming my new favorite movie: Bend it Like Beckham. In fact, I bought the movie last week. I don't even like soccer, and I can't understand half of what they say in the movie because of their British-ness. But I love this movie. I love British accents. I need someone to follow me around all day and just say things to me Britishly. Even when they are angry, they sound cheery, or at least silly. And sometimes I just need silly Britishness. For no good reason. If I ever have voices in my head, I do sincerely hope they are British.

3. I watched another movie that has been a favorite, but I never bought it. Until last week, that is. I watched Girl, Interrupted. Angelina is in it, which makes it good, even though her hotness is questionable. But what I love about this movie is that when I am feeling crazy and like I don't make sense to anyone around me, sometimes I feel better to watch a movie about people who are clearly crazier than I am. They are completely nuts, but they say things that make sense to me. Each character is an extreme manifestation of every insecurity I've felt, or feel now. But what's more important is that they all fit together and they work, maybe in spite of the crazy. Or maybe because of it. One person's crazy is another person's comfort, or security. And sometimes, the thought of checking out of my life and into the looney bin is appealing just enough to the point when the possibility of a straight jacket comes in to play. And by then I've watched enough of this movie to realize I can probably keep going with my world, outside of the asylum. Either way, I'm intrigued by this film. And it helps me feel a wee bit saner.

These things three, have brought peace to the crazy in my head of late. Yet the true state of my crazy is still to be determined.

C.T.