When I said I’d be posting every week, I really meant every year. Yeah. This was written around February 2014. So deal with it.
For some reason, my brain has been on shutdown the past few weeks. Maybe reading week threw me off. Maybe Valentine’s day drug me down in a pit of despair. (Probably not.) I even stooped as low as returning to Neopets and similar sites. Bad mistake. I could feel the brain cells eeking through my ears as I clicked on digital food to feed to digital pets.
Oh, that reminds me of this video:
I have to admit, there are times when I go kinda crazy. Not legit crazy, but crazy enough to shut out the world and research random things like the history of eyeglasses, or medieval torture techniques (which for some reason always shows up in my Newsfeed). Times like these are when I should be writing the most–but I never do. I seem to forget my computer even exists by this point. The ooze is running down my neck as I play some angry birds and try to salvage what is left of my social life. Which is nothing, by the way. And with midterms coming up, it’ll be in the negative values. But the funny thing is, I find myself caring less and less. I return to the touch screen more than ever, my acquaintances slinking away in fear from the oozy blob that is my person. I don’t think I’ve looked in the mirror for a week. I’m too scared. Ooo look! A bunny wearing a backpack.
I’ve found myself thinking back to past bouts of near-crazy. The one I remember best was when I was really little, perhaps five or so. I’m about to get a tad sentimental here, so if you like, you may skip to the next derpy picture and giggle mindlessly. First of all, I’d like to mention that until I was 12 years old, I was blind as fuck. It never occurred to my parents to get my vision checked. Like, ever. So my childhood up until that point was literally a blur. Moving, blobby blurs. When I was asked to read the board, I would shrug and say “I can’t read it.” They gave each other blurry looks. Looks like it’s special ed for me! I am still amazed that the idea never dawned on any of my teachers, relatives or friends. I was probably squinting, leaning in to read. And now I see babies with glasses and I am instantly jealous. That feeling will never go away.
Now that we’ve established that I couldn’t distinguish “butt” from “boat” in large chalky letters, I shall continue. I’m not too sure about kids nowadays, but when I was little, monsters and ghosts seemed like a very real thing, no matter what my parents told me. (kid’s nowadays don’t seem to give a shit about anything…)
And yet I still watched Bananas in Pajamas and remained unphased. Go figure.
However, the monster I feared wasn’t your traditional monster. It wasn’t in my closet (I’d checked). It wasn’t under my bed, since I squirreled things away there frequently and liked to chill out with the dust bunnies. (I thought they were actual bunnies…) No, my monster wouldn’t hide from me. He would stare at me from the corner of my room.
After describing my monster to a few close friends, I usually would get this response:
“Oh. That sounds like the Tall Man.” (or sometimes, “Slenderman”) “You must’ve seen the movie and got freaked out.”
holy fucking shit.
But I never did see the movie. And “slenderman” is very much a product of the internet, which was in its infancy in 1997. (At this point, I think we were all still giggling at the dancing baby .gif.) I didn’t respond well to this news. Explaining him away didn’t make him seem any less real.
I remembered he appeared quite suddenly. Just poof! One day he was there. My shitty vision was even more shitty in the dark. All I could ever make out of him was a pale, almond face, long black arms, and the ability to remain perfectly still. His face would never quite stay put; when I looked back, it seemed to fuzz over and morph, like a severely pixelated image. He usually would appear shortly after my mother closed the door, and remain there until morning. I believe this explains my ability to stay up sooper late, to this day.
My Tall Man was merciful, however. He would not appear at a friend’s house, in the living room, or in any other house, for that matter. He was confined to that one corner of my room. When my family moved far away, he did not return.
I will admit that Phantasm and Slenderman still scare the living shit out of me. But, since I never saw him again, I began to wonder: what did I really see? Could it have been a ghost? I will never know, and I don’t really want to, either.
Which brings me back to the present. Every once in a while, I see stuff like that. Not the Tall Man, but pixelated blobs. Usually it’s after copious amounts of caffeine and lack of sleep. I slip into depressive mode and enter the internet and emerge days later bulgy eyed and confused. I’ve searched for explanations, and the best I could come up with is this, but it seems extremely unlikely.
One good thing this could have caused is my epic dreams. My dreams are the best shit ever. Seriously. I have lucid dreams on a regular basis. And I remember about 80% of them. My dreams are more entertaining than a Hollywood blockbuster, dammit. I don’t know anyone else like this (if you’re one of them, go ahead and tell me about it!). Most of my story ideas have come to me in dreams. In one of them I was the son (I usually dream myself as I guy, which is odd) of a biologist turned-drug-dealer. In another, I was a ragamuffin thief in an alternate dimension which had a proficiency for wormholes. In another, I was a young woman travelling the world to find her long lost brother. A time travelling orphan who ends up on a sinking ship in a world with no land. A serial killer who could fly. The plots more unpredictable than Adventure Time endings. Which can be pretty fucked up….
I keep forgetting this is a kid’s show.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that sometimes, being a little crazy is a good thing. Even though it might have its soiled-pants-worthy moments, what emerges from it can be absolutely amazing. Which brings me to this bird.
This is the Potoo bird. (If you spend as much time on the internet as me, you’ve probably seen it already) This bird doesn’t know how hilarious it looks. It just sits around doing bird things all day while the rest of us giggle at it until snot squirts from our nose.
The Potoo bird proves my point. One person’s crazy is another’s normal. I mean, it must think we are crazy. Here we are, laughing at an animal, who has no understanding of humour. He just looks back at us all confuzzled. So when I have the urge to tell people about my Tall Man, my brushes with delusions, I just do what the Potoo bird does.
What, you say? Well, I look like a badass, of course. And I will continue doing bird things. Like hunt for insects and poop. Wait.
I’ll try to submit something next week. I promise. *hysterical giggle*
[please tell me about your lucid dream experiences! do you get them often? do you know why you get them? how cray cray are they?]