Is it the strangeness in me?
Rather retorical...but who's counting these days? One day I may try to explain what it really feels like to have so many people lose their ever loving fucking sanity in my close proximity.
Yet another one/two down in the past month. The middle room still holds the unblemished record of all occupants rendered mentally incapacitated and seeking psychiatric rehabilitation after less than three months. Most lasted less than one.
Now, you may ask yourself, "is it really the room where they sleep which causes these psycotic breaks?" "Or is it perhaps the other occupants of the dwelling who drive these poor souls into the waiting arms of the institution?" And, it is true, others have gone mad who simply spent time here but never technicly "lived" in the middle room. Perhaps, I attract the mentally unstable, staggering on the edge, barely functioning pathetic freaks with the awesome power of my demented and twisted soul alone. Why, my conscious self wishes to query my unconscious self, would I want to attract such ones as this? They certainly don't taste good. Nor are they particularly decorative. I wouldn't describe any of them as having an abundance of nutritional value, yet I continue to receive these special little gifts from the universe.
This all seems very nugatory and pointless.
So, I think we're going to finish removing the wall between my bedroom and the middle room, thus combining them into a much larger bedroom for us. (Demolition was begun, oddly enough, when R. soccer kicked a samsonite overnight suitcase from our bedroom through the wall.) Don't ask as I have no idea why this event occured. I wonder if we will go wacko?
I spent the night in the middle room for quite some time prior to the completion of my bedroom and suffered no ill effects. Either that, or I'm so nuts already it didn't make a discernable difference.
It should prove to be most interesting to say the least.
Take this as a warning or the beginning of cautionary tale...The fool on his journey would seem the appropriate card for this endevour.
*shrugs* *blinks* and thinks of frogs and seventies shoes.
Yet another one/two down in the past month. The middle room still holds the unblemished record of all occupants rendered mentally incapacitated and seeking psychiatric rehabilitation after less than three months. Most lasted less than one.
Now, you may ask yourself, "is it really the room where they sleep which causes these psycotic breaks?" "Or is it perhaps the other occupants of the dwelling who drive these poor souls into the waiting arms of the institution?" And, it is true, others have gone mad who simply spent time here but never technicly "lived" in the middle room. Perhaps, I attract the mentally unstable, staggering on the edge, barely functioning pathetic freaks with the awesome power of my demented and twisted soul alone. Why, my conscious self wishes to query my unconscious self, would I want to attract such ones as this? They certainly don't taste good. Nor are they particularly decorative. I wouldn't describe any of them as having an abundance of nutritional value, yet I continue to receive these special little gifts from the universe.
This all seems very nugatory and pointless.
So, I think we're going to finish removing the wall between my bedroom and the middle room, thus combining them into a much larger bedroom for us. (Demolition was begun, oddly enough, when R. soccer kicked a samsonite overnight suitcase from our bedroom through the wall.) Don't ask as I have no idea why this event occured. I wonder if we will go wacko?
I spent the night in the middle room for quite some time prior to the completion of my bedroom and suffered no ill effects. Either that, or I'm so nuts already it didn't make a discernable difference.
It should prove to be most interesting to say the least.
Take this as a warning or the beginning of cautionary tale...The fool on his journey would seem the appropriate card for this endevour.
*shrugs* *blinks* and thinks of frogs and seventies shoes.