So, I go to this place. Been going there since January 1988 to help with something that occurred in July of 1987. That’s a long time. Doesn’t mean I know everything about it, just means I’ve seen a lot.

It also means that I’m not there by mistake.

So, I belong. And I’m better for it.

Most of the time.

The other day though… Holy sack-a-doodle-balls. I’ve never sat that close to so many crazy people IN MY LIFE. Well, I have, but I haven’t in a long time.

Pretty sure we were all about 7 seconds away from hearing how aliens have come down from wherever to invent TMZ, corn dogs, house music and all the t.v. shows they air on the CW channel.

One dude actually started his little vignette saying something about ancient Greeks, or maybe Jews, and how they used wine for something. I honestly can’t remember, because I was TERRIFIED that if these thoughts embedded themselves in my memory that I’d never come back. Kind of like the brown acid. Never did acid. Should I?

More frightening than the people saying the koo-koo-looku things, were the people nodding their head in agreement. As if I was the crazy one. Me!

So, I’m sitting there wondering how to leave without making a scene. It was kinda impossible.

HOLD THE PHONE> Just saw the Trojan spot where the old man is going on a date with Shelia, the third date, apparently the knocking boots date, and his son slips him a rubber. Um, no. Not ever, no.

Shit, there are crazy people everywhere. It’s not just at that Place. Shit. That freaks me out.

And, just like that Place, I’m dependent on those people to survive. Not just for food and shelter and all that. Emotionally, spiritually. That’s what I’m talking about.

I’m gonna guess that while I’m depending on those people, all people, to grow and experience that things I consider most important (love, compassion, hope, etc.), that there are times when I look at them like Nut Ball Renegades. I suppose that’s okay, because I’m gonna bet that they look at me like I’m leading the parade.

Not sure this makes me happy.