Do you know what the definition of crazy is? The dictionary will tell you that it is a “mentally deranged person”, but I’m here to tell you that that is wrong. Very, very wrong.
No, this is the real definition of crazy:
8pm—bawling my eyes out over my mum
10pm—trying to prevent the atrophy of my limited social skills by writing messages to friends
11pm—panicking over my sister, Liz
12am—calling Auntie Dude, panicked over Liz’s fever and vomiting
1:30am—calling Alex to take Liz and myself up to the hospital
2am—haunting the ER while the nurses medicate Liz to bring the fever down
3am—wondering how much longer the guy down the hall can vomit at 60 decibels
4am—wondering how much longer we’re going to be waiting here
4:30am—wondering how much longer I can linger in the ER without getting sick myself
5am—wondering how much longer until the doctor sees the sick ten-year-old
5:30am—wondering how much longer before I lose my mind
6am—wondering how much longer until I can fucking SLEEP
6:05am—the Doc sees Liz, tells me she has strep throat, and writes her a prescription
6:15am—we are finally able to go home
6:30—wandering about my house sans pants, talking to myself in a British accent and clutching my tea while I make necessary phone calls and get ready for bed
7:08am—I fall headfirst into blissful unconsciousness
3pm—I rise from my quasi-coma, feeling like shit
Exactly 24 hours later—I am out with Milady at this fabulous place she’s taken me to, and I honest-to-God think that I’ve died and gone to heaven
In short, crazy = my life.
I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.