I’m the first to admit I’m crazy. I try to spin it in a lovable way, letting my mania envelope friends in fun most of the time. I don’t have any enemies I know of and can speak my mind with most people. Despite efforts to remain considerate I can’t control how people receive my bounty. The type of energy I deal with has a lot to do with location. Proximity, elevation, latitude, orbits – I consider multiple factors when making important decisions. As a result, I feel my choices are grounded. Time elapses, I eventually say what I’m thinking. 

Relationships rise and fall like empires around me. I leave encounters with new people feeling connected and never successfully see them again. I vow to stop socializing with people who leave me feeling worthless and then text them a week later. The loneliness creeps up on me like a drinking problem. If my opinions yield notable reactions from others, I’m more surprised than anyone. Short of yoga poses and pet care, I don’t have many answers. When I uncover a solid truth it’s as unmistakable as fake breasts.

So, when you call me crazy is it because I question the consent of your victims or because I question your motives when seducing them?