Room Service, please.
My sister, Erin, and I were having a strange conversation which started by voicing that often recurring thought that I might be crazy. I've wondered this and have thought, well maybe everyone is just humoring me and telling me I'm not crazy when I really am. So sometimes I'll say, "I'm going crazy..." then I'll take a quick sideways glance toward the listener to see if they're shaking their head's up and down or side to side. I never seem to catch either action which makes me also doubt my vision. So, anyway, this time she chose the path of empathy and said that she too was going crazy and then we toyed over the idea of becoming room mates some day in an institution for the mentally insane.
What do you see Rorschach? Swatches of Thumbprints?
I took these ideas a step further, in the usual pattern of my sometimes conscious dreamlike vocalized thoughts, to wonder if perhaps Erin and I might someday be room mates in an in-mates kind of setting. Both of us, in the future having finally realized that living on the outside has become too expensive, and that since by then most of our tax dollars would be going toward correctional facilities with their vast libraries, room service, psychological services (a big perk for me), and the chance of getting another college degree paid by the state, might make this change of address necessary. And of course, my thoughts went on in this usual pattern to the point of wondering what kind of crime would I commit to make the crime worth leaving me with a record and my thumb prints in "the system" forever, or until electronic warfare becomes the norm. Having to suppress a number of violent crimes that would be aimed toward certain types of sex offenders, I tried to think of non-violent yet worthy of memory and great laughs while I wait out my year or more long sentence.
Last night, I asked Chris the same question I'm now asking myself, and he said he would probably sneak on a space shuttle aimed for the moon. They wouldn't be able to let him off, as you know it is outer space and would make them guilty of inhumane treatment, even for humans, and it would take at least 7 days to get back, so he'd have 7 days of weightlessness, a first hand view of Earth, some of that awesome space food and lots of fun buttons to push (this is assuming they don't have air marshals with loaded pistols and handcuffs on space shuttles).
Back to me. I am a pretty modest person, so wardrobe "malfunctions" are out. I can easily feel bad about hurting someone's feelings or possessions so shouting insults about a person's car while stealing it would also be out. Again, because of the modesty issue, I don't think I could get away with standing in my late 1980's biker shorts and halter top as still as a statue, with a trench-coat puddled around my feet in the MOCA, of course with an official looking label on the ground titled "uncommitted flasher- in yellow." Sometimes I've thought of connecting the dots on one of those Jackson Pollock splatter paintings that all of us have at some point said, "I could have done that!" while looking at the amazing results one gets by flicking paint onto a canvas (if you had thought of it first, you'd be rich, but you'd also have to act morose, accept the fact that the empty tube of cadmium red really has done permanent damage, and that you'll never be able to look at spilled milk or splattered spaghetti sauce the same way again).
Later (yes, it's always later when I'm thinking like this)...I know I'm not pure in heart, but I truly am still having a hard time as to what I'd do. My good "shoulder angel" must have eaten his veggies today because he is winning. Though, I'm pretty sure that in the next 4 to 5 day's the bad one will be winning. So, if any of you who have actually made it to the end of this blog entry have any ideas, please leave them in the comment section. Who knows, by tomorrow I may have completely reformed and realized that by the time this drastic step becomes necessary I may have 3 supportive sons who are either practicing doctors, plumbers, or great defense attorneys making it so that my medical care is free, my drains would be always unclogged, and I would never get the chance to suffer for my planned offenses.
Latest idea...break into a violin museum and play a Stradivarius, naaaa, I'm so out of practice it would hurt both me and the poor guy watching the surveillance videos.
I'd better go to sleep as this blog is getting weirder and weirder as I go...zzzzzzzzz