The Trashing Sane

Set your trash can outside your door when you leave at night, I was told, if I want the trash can for my office emptied. I feel embarrassed. I’ve forgotten to set it out and now, after only a few days, it is full of cups, containers, and papers. Looks like a college boy has been hanging out in here. Everyone in the hallway will know I am trashy.

Today I had my first web conference to learn more about the online system the journal’s about to jump into. I kept forgetting that the Irish fellow conferencing with me could see on his computer screen everything I was doing on my screen, and so I was occasionally startled when he commented on what I was doing. I have a tendency to space out and throw the cursor around with the mouse. Curbed that real quick. I played the role of author, reviewer, editorial assistant, and editor, pinging and ponging back-forth between each, as if I didn’t already have enough personalities to contend with. The Irish fellow and I shared jokes about schizophrenia and lapses in memory.

I conclude that absolutely everyone feels terribly insecure about his or her sanity and that is why everyone makes jokes about such, or makes jabs at others, depending on the person’s default defense mechanism. This is nothing new; i.e. it is also why masses cling to mass preference, or rebel en masse. Just an observation in current context. Or it’s an attention-getter, a humor device. "Ha!Ha! I’m schizophrenic. Let’s have a good laugh"? Might as well, I suppose. Right now I feel like being outside in October sunshine, laughing and lilting.