Ghost in the Machine (and other tales about my crazy)

As my heroine Jennie Smash might say*, I have a touch of the crazy. As such, my brain occasionally** derails over ordinary, mundane things.

Today I had to go to the bathroom at work. I try not to go in there much, because there might be other people in there and I don't want people knowing that I sometimes pee. But extra coffee this morning (because I was tired, because I slept on the couch, because there was a spider in my room) necessitated that I go in there, so I did. I was relieved to find that I was in there all alone. I choose a stall and sit down, and the next thing you know I hear the toilet in the stall next to me flushing. My immediate thought was that there was someone crouched on the toilet seat so that I couldn't see their feet trying to catch me in the act of peeing. I am not making this up. But then the toilet flushes again. And again. And I realize that this particular toilet must be the ghost toilet, and not only that but there must be one heck of a line.

So now that I know it's just ghosts and not a pee spy, I feel much better and go to wash my hands. Did I tell you about the automatic soap dispensers? You stick your hand under there and it drops the perfect amount of soap into your palm. I am still completely mesmerized by this. But today there is a problem. The dispenser on the right, which is my preferred sink, has a flashing red light. And again, the crazy tells me that a flashing red light in the soap dispenser means someone has planted a bomb in it. If I use that particular soap dispenser the bomb will go off and blow me to smithereens. As much as my logical, rational side (and I do have one) keeps trying to tell me how ridiculous that is, I end up washing my hands in the left hand sink. Just to be on the safe side.

Speaking of bombs, yesterday I'm sitting on the eL at noon, playing collapse on my phone. Across from me is an enormous (in the solid sense, not in the fat sense) black man with work boots on. Which really wouldn't be anything to write about in and of itself, except that when he got off the train, I saw some kind of round metal thing that had been left in the seat next to him, and I presumed by him. And I start to freak out because they've been bombing trains and buses in London lately, and while Chicago is neither London nor New York, it still is a pretty big city, so someone leaving a bomb on the eL is not entirely out of the question. But seconds later I relax as this thought jumps unbidden into my brain: Don't be silly, black construction workers do not leave bombs on trains. Which is true as far as I can tell, but don't ask me where my brain came up with a blanket statement like that. I have no idea. It is futile to ask questions of the crazy.

So did I slip it by you? The part where I was on the eL at noon? Right. That was because I was headed home on my lunch break due to the crazy insisting to me that my lovely cat had jumped out a second story window and was lying in a crumpled heap in my backyard. See, I had left a window open without a screen in my kitchen because for some reason there's a bunch of flies in my apartment and rather than kill them like a normal person, I decided to leave a window open all day long while I was at work in the hope that they would taste freedom and just fly out. But an hour after getting to work, I realize that I opened it pretty wide...wide enough for Kristen to fit through should she so choose. Now mind you, my cat doesn't really show signs of wanting to escape, let alone by way of a two story drop onto a slab of concrete. Additionally, she seems to lack any kind of initiative for anything other than trying to steal chicken from me. Nevertheless, the crazy had a hold of me by then and there was no way I was going to be able to concentrate until I was sure she was safe inside the house. Which she was; I found her sleeping on the couch right where I left her when I went to work in the morning. Explaining to my boss when I got back about what my "emergency" was at home was...interesting. But may I say thank heaven that guy thinks his dogs are his kids the way I think Kristen is mine.

So what have we learned today kids? Nothing really, except that Amber's thought patterns may or may not be based in reality depending on the day, and possibly the size of the room. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to concentrate on chewing the exact same number of M&Ms on each side of my mouth to prevent my face from becoming visibly lopsided.

*Must give credit where credit is due. There's been a rash of e-plagiarism lately, especially on MySpace. Also, she might argue that she is crazier than me.
**frequently