i saw a man today at the museum steps, talking to himself. Wearing rags and pacing around, he was obviously what our world calls ‘the mad man’.
insane defined by the dictionary says : “not sane; not of sound mind; mentally deranged.”
and i think this is one of the most ironic words in the English dictionary.
how contented he must be, in his own insane world with no inhibitions, no goals, no stress and only dreams. Its like when I was a child, and I used to play with imaginary friends, and talking aloud to myself was not ‘weird’. I don’t remember when I last spoke to myself aloud though, I know I always want to do it.
And here was this man, who could walk around with his fly open, talking to himself and nobody stopped it, nobody was bothered…oh how free he must be!
“I sleep—for a while—two or three hours—then a dream—no—a nightmare seizes me in its grip, I know full well that I am lying down and that I am asleep . . . I sense it and I know it . . . and I am also aware that somebody is coming up to me, looking at me, running his fingers over me, climbing on to my bed, kneeling on my chest, taking me by the throat and squeezing . . . squeezing . . . with all its might, trying to strangle me. I struggle, but I am tied down by that dreadful feeling of helplessness that paralyzes us in our dreams. I want to cry out—but I can’t. I want to move——I can’t do it. I try, making terrible, strenuous efforts, gasping for breath, to turn on my side, to throw off this creature who is crushing me and choking me—but I can’t! Then, suddenly, I wake up, panic-stricken, covered in sweat. I light a candle. I am alone.”
its two days to Christmas…and I am dreading the holiday. I hate to spend holidays alone.