A writer writes what he knows. This is what I know: I am absolutely crazy, which is probably the reason my life parallels some sort of absurdist play. Thus I bring to you Reasons why I am crazy PART UNO:
1. About two weeks ago, I came home from a long day of work and utterly convinced myself that I was going to die from skin cancer in the immediate future. I googled stage four melanoma. I sat examining my body for oddly shaped moles. I lay in bed tossing and turning over the list of all the times I had ever been sunburned. WHY did I let myself get so tan in Mexico, I demanded of myself. Why did I not bathe in SPF 50 daily? Why had I let myself become so susceptible to such a grotesque and ugly disease? Whether my worry was unfounded or not has no matter. I do have rather fair skin and melanoma is one of the most common cancers among adults. What is crazy is that I woke up the next morning completely unconcerned about the matter and went about my day.
2. I am completely unsatisfied with everything that I do. If I am working, I wish I had a day off. When I have a day off, I think my time would better be spent working. If I'm with friends, I wish I were alone. When I'm alone, I wonder why I don't go out more. You can see what a dangerous and difficult cycle this is. Thus, the absurdity.
3. When I am particularly annoyed with the way my life is going, I always imagine that I am going to move to some exotic and exciting place within the year. Or that I'll invent something. Or that I'll finally finish that novel. Or that I'll fall in love one day, and none of this will even matter then.
4. Speaking of over active imaginations, here's another story. My freshman year of college, I had to perform a monologue as a final assignment that determined whether I would be allowed back to the acting program for another semester. I rehearsed the crap out of that thing, wondering if my inflictions were right, making sure I wouldn't trip in my heels as I walked into the room, mulling over the monologue selection itself. Then I thought, what if, while I'm performing my monologue, someone shoots a gun at the window? Should I just go on with my monologue? Should I duck? Or run from the room? What if I hit the floor and land on a piece of glass? Would they make me do my monologue again? "Calm down, Anna," I had to assure myself. Nobody is going to shoot a gun through the window. And if they do, just act like how a normal person would act if a gun were being shot at them....
Thus concludes Reasons why I am crazy Part UNO. Look out for Part II.
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