Criminally Insane or Incredibly Mundane… you decide.

I have some kind of inordinate desire to exist in a black and white universe in which my life is either insane… or mundane.  I cannot seem to manage to find some middle ground, or should I say cannot seem to find comfort in the middle ground.  I suppose that when you come from a family of “certified” loonies and have a 19-year-old son(which is redundant), Hehe… the middle ground is a completely foreign concept.

As an example, I broke a molar and had to go to the dentist.  Oh yes it was broken, abscessed, and unsaveable.  So, after a great deal of REALLY large needles full of Lidocaine my face was in full droop, out comes the Medieval torture devices.  Huge metal ice cream scoops, spatulas, and a wide variety of menacing plier looking objects.  The Dentist starts poking at my face and says,”How’s that?”  I say, “Ooh..iffeals ofay”.  Then comes the spatula things to try to pry the tooth up… the rest I will save you from, I will say, I’ve never heard anything that disgusting in my entire life.

Ordeal over, mouth full of gauze, drooling blood at the counter… I actually nodded yes when they asked to schedule me for x-rays, exam, and a cleaning for the following week.  I think I was hovering over myself, to my defense.

What “normal” human being actually puts themselves through all of this keeping in mind that I already have a lot of pain anyways?  I can’t seem to say, “I think I need to wait a little while.”  The prospect of moderation is a foreign if not completely lost concept to me.  Sadly enough, I’m not Pulp Fiction crazy cool,  I’m like a muttering to myself, demonstrative, overtly protective, and extreme in all things pertaining to mom-ing… cleaning… and other mundane craziness.

My father said when I was a child I was either going to run the world or be an axe murderer… unfortunately any of those options involved far to much focus and planning.  I ended up being a run of the mill coo coo.  Masochism in the manner of parenting a teenage boy, putting my hand in the proverbial “wood chipper” with nasty people repeatedly, engaging in the absurd notion that family should probably not use sarcasm as the only form of communication in our interactions…

I wish I had been an axe murderer.