I sent this text to my very good friend earlier this evening:

“You know when you’re completely hormonal and irrational and you know it but you can’t stop the crazy?  That’s me.”

Yes indeed.  There’s nothing like standing at your refrigerator getting a glass of water and bursting into tears for seemingly no reason.  And that logical part of me is screaming at me: “Good gravy, woman!  STOP IT!!!!  You are being ‘that girl’ who flips out with no warning.  The girl who men fear because they don’t know how you will react at any given moment because there is no rhyme or reason to your behavior.  The girl who you yourself also hate because she’s the girl that gives womankind a bad name, and every time she’s portrayed on film you’re all, “Oh my word, she’s so annoying!  Who does that?  Dump her!”

But just before I fell completely into the deepest darkest hole of self-despair, I got a text back from my afore-mentioned friend:

“Lady, I’m currently crying in my car downtown.”

Frienship.  It’s priceless.  You see, apparently my friend and I have gotten on to the same cycle.  The same thing happened back in college.  And so perhaps you can believe why we are so close.  Anywhoo…apparently my friend had gotten herself lost while traveling downtown and somehow ended up in the ghetto.  By herself.  A small white woman, lost in the ghetto, crying.  It sounds like the start of a slasher film.  Candyman 15 perhaps?  I believe that beauty of a horror series was filmed in my sweet home of Chicago, specifically, Cabrini Green.  If this idea catches on, I think my friend could be the perfect opening sequence first person to be killed character.  I’m just sayin…

So anyway, I guess the point to my ramblings (and YES I know they’re ramblings but I can’t stop!  I believe it’s sort of part of thus whole theme here…crazy that I can’t stop) is that when you’re in that place of “can’t stop the crazy”, it’s sort of an out-of-body experience.  You can see yourself, the irrational, making no sense, flipping out over water that dribbled on the floor when unloading the dishwasher (oh yes), daydreaming about ripping off the drywall with my bare hands because my 5-year-old has asked me the same inane question for the 16th time in a matter of 45 minutes…that self. 

 You see her, but you can’t seem to communicate with her.  You try yelling, “WHAT?  What are you doing?  You’ve officially become ‘that girl”!!  Oh for crying….can you not hear me???!!!”  And you see how her family is looking at her.  You see how the kids are looking at her with wide, questioning eyes.  “Why is Mommy’s head spinning around?  Why are her eyes red and why is steam coming from her ears?  Daddy!  I’m scared!”  Yes.  These are the moments you wish you had one of those flashy thingys from Men In Black, to erase everyone’s memory of Crazy Mommy.

I don’t have a flashy thingy.  But what can I do?  I’m so there.  I’ve been there all day.  It’s been really annoying to rational out-of-body me.  So I apologize to my family.  But I thank my friend who is currently there with me.  Maybe our rational selves can hang out and devise a plan to get through to our irrational selves.  Maybe. 

My friend did get out of the ghetto, by the way.