Degrees of crazy

I'm sure there are people who object to the term, "crazy." I've been in government service too long not to know that if I used the term crazy in an official capacity, I'd get various written complaints about my lack of sensitivity. Then I'd have to write a letter of apology to all of the crazies that I offended (which in itself is kind of crazy, because how could you be offended by the term crazy unless you are).

There are lots worse things to be called than crazy. Whack job, psycho bitch and nut job seem a lot more harsh than crazy. Loony Tunes, touched and wacko are a bit better. But crazy seems to be a more playful term. It's less cold and clinical than bi-polar, schizo or mentally challenged.

Besides, I have never really viewed being crazy as a bad thing. And I mean crazy in a fun, lamp shade on your head type of way, not crazy in a climb a water tower with a high powered weapon kind of way.

Most of the time when I think of crazy I'm referring more to being eccentric or quirky. And I find that an endearing quality. I relate to mildly crazy people more than I do to excessively straight people. But I suppose as with anything, there are varying degrees of crazy. A little bit crazy is better than really crazy.

I think it is easy to tolerate crazy people if you live in a major city. Growing up in Boise, we more or less kept our crazy people in the spare room watching television like my Uncle Ira who thought the Red Chinese were tunneling under the house to get him. Oh, there was this guy who would walk down the middle of Broadway near Boise State University carrying on a rather boisterous conversation with an invisible person. He wore a tiny cowboy hat, horn rim glasses and shorts. He seemed harmless but he stuck out like sore thumb.

Downtown Seattle is Loony Central. I think the Boise guy who talked to invisible people would have found it uncomfortable to live here because of the number of other people trying to talk to his non-existent friends. After living here for 27 years nothing much phases me anymore. Shoot, I even walk down the street babbling. It helps me blend in. And bottom line, sometimes being crazy keeps me sane.