Mine’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World…


Have you ever caught yourself,

arguing with yourself?


It’s alright; you can admit it. No one else is around, to judge you and, besides, we all do it. That, sort of, back-and-forth dialogue inside our own heads, hopelessly crazy and unable to help it. The other night, it happened to me in a big way, and I caught myself realizing, I do this all the time. Driving down the road, in the shower, at a ballgame, watching TV, writing (it’s most helpful when I’m writing, by the way), and the like.

The point is, we’re all pretty nutso. Some of us just blend in with the rest of them, the irretrievably and dully sane, a little better. I cling tightly to my wacky and, by extension, my individuality. So, it was no huge surprise to me, to be arguing with myself about what exactly to do with my daughter’s sippy cup. Potty training is a big deal right now, and about an hour short of her bedtime, she left a sippy cup half-full of juice in my possession, while she tended to her bathroom business.

The argument went something like this:

“Oh, shit, I have to hide this cup. Out of sight, out of mind. She won’t ask for it, if she can’t see it.”

“We have to put a sticker on the calendar, when she gets done, so, maybe I can sneak it into the fridge.”

“No way, that’s a long trip down the stairs…I can’t let her go in front of me; what if she fell? I can’t hide it, all the way down there.”

“I can tuck it under the bed, and put it away later. She certainly won’t see it, there.”

“But, then again, neither will I,” -I am going to pause to inform you, Reader, that my memory sucks. I smoked way too many brain cells away in my late teens, and dropped a shitload more of them, in my third trimester with said potty star- “I’ll never remember it’s there. Next thing I know, it’ll be four months from now, me looking for that damned sippy cup this whole time, and find it when I go to look for a pair of shoes I haven’t worn in just as long; a moldy, disgusting science experiment o’ juicy juice, lying there,under the bed next to that cute top I forgot I had.”

“Alright, I guess I’d better just let her have the rest of her damn juice.”


If you’re still with me; thanks; you obviously know what I mean. Keep it crazy. Keep it real.