My father once made the comment that he was a crazy magnet. He always said if there were any crazy people with 20 miles of him, they would walk, run, crawl, or swim to get close to him. He was the type of man who loved to talk to any and every body he met. It goes without saying that if you talk to complete strangers, some of them are bound to be crazy. He should have known this because my Uncle Richard would talk to strangers at the Wal-Mart and he was crazy himself. I know my uncle was crazy because when I was old enough to drive, I would take him to the local mental health hospital each month to get his "crazy" shot. I didn't know it at the time, but he was on some heavy duty meds. Lithium & Thorazine were like Tylenol and Advil to him.
I would always laugh at Daddy when he talked about being a crazy magnet until the day I finally realized I was a crazy magnet also. Not only am I a crazy magnet, I'm a bum magnet. I figured this out when I noticed that my best friend was as crazy as the day is long and the love of my life was a no-working, ex-con, drug addict. Man oh man, do I know how to pick them or what. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with crazy people or bums. I wouldn't trade my best friend for all the money in the world, well, maybe for "all" of it, but I would still call her on the sly and take her on fun vacations. As far as bums, I have no complaints about him either. There's just something about a tattooed, shaved head, ex-con that makes my heart go pitter patter.
I'm sure a lot of people who read this will think I'm probably as crazy as the people I attract. Well, that just goes without saying. Crazy knows crazy! Besides, crazy people have their purposes, how else would "normal" people know they were normal if it wasn't for all the crazies walking around on the street?
1 comment:
My mother always used to call me "Flypaper for Freaks".
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