Friday, April 8


Sometimes I wonder if life has made me slightly crazy. It seems logical that life itself will have a certain effect on us, that the pain we experience will change our bodies and our minds a certain way. There are rituals which only exist to control my craziness: checking if the door is closed, five times in a row, wanting complete silence on Fridays, talking to a cat as if he understands. A friend asks you why you keep all your old grocery lists and you answer her you like to read them now and then. There’s a soothing rhythm when you read those words out loud: ‘two rolls of bread, a pint of milk, some crackers, fruit and vegetables.’ On the bathroom door she finds small notes with texts which don’t make sense to her. You tell her you need to relinquish three things: the need to control, the need to be approved, the need to judge. There’s a poem about this on your bathroom wall. Your friend nods as if she understands. True friends accept our craziness.