I'm Not Crazy

~33~ The morning after my very first almost-murder.

I see the bad moon a-rising
I see trouble on the way
I see earthquakes and lightnin'
I see bad times today

Don't go around tonight
Well it's bound to take your life
There's a bad moon on the rise

Bad Moon Rising ~ Creedence Clearwater Revival

😈😈😈

The morning after my first attempted almost murder and the House of Crazy is eerily quiet. Like everyone is just waiting for the other ax to drop, and the heads to roll. Even all the ghosts in the Madhouse seem to be holding their breath. So I just lay in bed, listening to the slow moans and creaks of the Madhouse. Watching the dust motes dance in the honeysuckle sunlight of the stained glass window above my bed.

I am tempted to get up and go down and start a special breakfast for everyone. Something that I used to do when we lived in Towne, and I knew my mom had an especially tough night. I guess all my old little Miss Helper habits die hard? But this being my first almost attempted murder, I am not sure that a "Special Fancy Breakfast" the morning after an almost murder is apropos? But then again it is the Madhouse, so it's probably better to be safe than stupid?

The other truth that I am sorta afraid to face this morning is Sheriff Buddy. Probably because I think he will take one look at me, with those cold cowboy sheriff eyes of his, and see the sins of yesterday's bloodbath in my eyes. Then the old law dog in him will start asking all the wrong questions, that I don't have any of the right lies for.

Like: "Why is there blood on the floor of the slaughterhouse? Or why are all the kid killing knives in the dishwasher? And what the hell happened to that lovely crystal flower vase that your mom used to kill fresh wildflowers in? Dogdammit, I really was partial the smell of screaming daisies first thing in the morning."

So I wait out the requisite ten thousand heartbeats, while both Buddy and my mother get ready to head out and face their respective days. In the time in between the heartbeats, I start to reflect deeply on everything that I have learned about myself since yesterday. I've come to the unavoidable conclusion that I might actually like violence, maybe a little too much? That if my Magic Hand is anything to go by, violence seems to spark something sexual in me at a primal level? Something else that I am very not altogether comfortable with about myself.

After last night's eye-opening session internetting with the universal answering machine, I've made some decisions going forward. I've decided that the decision to have feelings for someone is not really a decision at all.

That in looking back on all the people in my life that I have loved? I never decided to love them or not love them, I just simply loved them. That there is no rhyme or reason for the strong feelings that I have held for those I felt love for. I loved them simply because of who they were to me, my Mom, my Dad, and my Grandmother Gloria. Hell, even my old dog Blue Maxx, who had to be put down because he got too old to deal.

But I also think of my hates in the same way too. I think of all the people that I hate, starting with the Jihadist Insurgents who killed my dad. While it's true that I didn't particularly care for them to much before they killed my dad. But after they killed him? Yeah, I totally hate them to death now. I say kill them all and let their Jihadist kids hate me right back. We can trade hate mail, and have hate holidays with hate parades and shit.

So as much as the Dalai Lama wants me to at least try to care about all life on this little blue salt ball drifting in the dark? I have come to the conclusion that there is a reason that he is the Dalai Lama, and I am just me. So if little Jonny and Janey Jihad want to hate me for killing their Insanistani country and turning it into a Walmart parking lot? Oh fucking well, welcome to hell. I guess they too will have to do whatever it takes to make it through the Insanistani Jihad. Just like I have to do whatever it takes to make through my own crazy life.