Lately, I’ve been spending way too much time in my head; and by lately, we’re talking since graduation with some really hardcore episodes starting in mid-July.
I can’t reiterate enough how this is way too much time.
Spending time in one’s head conjures up images of the brooding thinker, “still waters run deep” said some very cunning but very simple minded creature. Not these waters. Most of the time I’m just thinking of stupid things to put on t-shirts. “A chimp in a tuxedo…try a chimp in a tuxedo ON A BIKE…make it A UNICYCLE…make it a PURPLE CHIMP.”
I am a genius. I slay myself.
The sad fact about those last two sentences is that the only parts that are true are “I” and “myself”. I make myself laugh. A lot. While it has endowed me with a healthy sense of humor, unfortunately it also makes me look a little crazy. A lot. But I am a firm believer and keeper of the “If you can’t take a joke, get the fuck out of my house,” rule so I don’t think there’s anything to fix here. Appearances of sanity are optional; your sense of humor: mandatory.
This is all well and good, but we’re not just talking laughter, we’re talking about the whole range of human emotions that put whatever impressions I wanted to put up of being a rational and sane human being at stake. Case in point: I’m about to get in the elevator at work, when our marketing head comes up to join me in line. Our marketing head is wearing an ID strap with the Discovery Channel logo and “The World is Just Awesome” emblazoned along the length of it. I love the discovery channel. Love love love. It’s tragic that the channel doesn’t come in human form because I WOULD marry it, in a heartbeat. So my first reaction is delight.
“I love the Discovery Channel!” I exclaim way too loudly. Then I clap. My first week at work: it is legendary. Then I tell our marketing guy about how I would cry whenever I’d see the old commercial, the one with the song, “I love tornadoes, I love the dirty things, I love hot magma, I love Egyptian kings! I love the whole world! It’s such a crazy place, boomti-yaya boomti-yaya boomti-yaya boomti-yaya…” He grins (with what I can only recognize as) apologetically. But I don’t recognize that right away, instead I’m already singing the song in my head. “boomti-yaya, boomti-yaya, boomti-yaya, boomti-yaya”…and I start to tear up. What? It’s a beautiful commercial! Oh. My. God. Hormones.
“Excuse me, please.” I bury my face in the corner and pretend there’s something in my eye. That ought to do the trick.