montecristo

I woke up in a silly mood this morning. It is mornings like this one that remind me why I have a house and not an apartment. I like sound in my environment. Sometimes silence is good, sometimes even necessary, often times quite pleasing, but long stretches of silence, the kind one is left with when one is the sole occupant of a house, can be wearying. I play music often, and sing. I talk, also. I talk to myself. I talk to the pictures of absent friends. Heh! I have heard that you are not psychotic, unless you believe that they answer. It is such a silly thing, like the Tom Hanks character from the movie "Cast Away" and his imaginary soccer-ball "friend," Wilson. I spent twelve years in almost constant company of my family. I guess I'm still getting used to having the place all to myself.

I suppose that I can be forgiven for filling my environment with empty sound, since it is an otherwise empty environment. You're only crazy if you talk to yourself when alternatives are present. Nevertheless, some of the sound with which I fill my environment is quite silly. This morning, when I got up, I heard "Vaseline" by Stone Temple Pilots in my head. By the time I hit the shower this morning, I was singing it in Cookie Monster's voice. See why I want my neighbors at a respectable distance? I am kind of discouraged by the prospect of being met coming out of the shower by guys in white coats with a nice wrap-around canvas bathrobe and a syringeful of thorzine cocktail!

Sometimes I do get silly. It's the kind of brain I have that is often struck by what the existentialists called the absurdity of existence. I guess Crystal appreciated it. I was always good at making her laugh. I guess it does take a certain kind of woman to appreciate my perverse humor. Not everbody is inspired by Peter Gabriel's "Kiss That Frog" to improvise an appropriate foreground monologue for that track delivered by Kermit the Frog as if he were getting head from Miss Piggy.