Wednesday, October 24, 2012

One Stop From Crazy Town

Recently, my husband taught me about the handy voice recording application on my phone.  Before I learned about that snazzy app, I brought a notebook along on my hikes, and whenever I got an idea for my writing, I stopped, opened my pack, got out the notebook, and held it awkwardly as I wrote out my thoughts with stiff, usually very cold hands.  Now all I have to do is whip out my phone, hit "record," and talk.  Hooray!  

However, to others on the trail, I'm certain this activity makes me look like I am totally cuckoopants.  It's one thing to go on a solo hike and talk to yourself (which, by the way, I do all the time).  It is quite another to go for a hike and talk to your phone.  Also, since I'm currently writing a fantasy about dragons, if a fellow hiker were to hear what I was saying, it would be something like:  "When the Captor informs the Red Matriarch that she slaughtered his family, she's unable to believe it.  She's been opposing the Valtamani Aza about the dragons' human hunting practices for hundreds of years."  Yes.  See?  A totally normal thing to discuss with one's phone.

Although I suppose I could seem weirder
Unfortunately, this is not my only activity as of late that makes me appear utterly whackadoo.  In my prolonged solitude, I seem to have lost the ability to distinguish between my internal and external voice, which makes for some interesting public appearances.  For example, the other day I was standing in a grocery store aisle comparing canned tomato prices and suddenly remembered an incident from the previous evening when my cat fell out of his bed.  I proceeded to burst out laughing, much to the alarm of the shoppers around me, and then remarked, out loud, "Poor little buddy." 

I had a similar incident at the public library yesterday.  I was using an online thesaurus to find another word for "soft" in a passage I was writing describing a man's skin.  When the helpful online resource offered me these words:
  • doughy
  • flabby
  • flimsy
  • fluffy
  • furry
  • gelatinous
  • mushy
  • pulpy
  • squashy; and 
  • squishy
...I erupted into uncontrollable giggles ten times in a row.  I then packed up my computer and left before anyone could call the police.

[In case you're wondering, after careful deliberation, I decided to go with "squashy," so the sentence now reads:  She shivered at the sensation of his warm, squashy skin beneath her fingers.  I thought warm and squashy, when paired together, invoked a pleasant image, much like a pumpkin pie fresh out of the oven.]

Mmmm, warm AND squashy!
Thankfully, I am more protected when acting like a lunatic in my own home.  I live at the end of a remote, dirt road, so no one can peep through my windows and see me chattering endlessly to myself, yelling at my computer (this could be due to Pandora's relentless advertisements or seeing something any Republican just said about anything), and periodically leaping out of my chair for spontaneous bouts of salsa dancing.  I also sometimes decide I'm going to make myself cocoa and then proceed to jump up and down with happiness.  Even the dog and cat have begun giving me weird looks, and when your pets start to look at you that way, you can be pretty sure you've gone 'round the bend.

By the way, it is totally normal to take this type of self-portrait while hiking
I am also thankful that people cannot hear me inside my car as I enthusiastically greet every animal I pass.  "Hello, cow!  Yo, crow.  What's shakin', sheep?"  Unfortunately, the car does have windows, through which people can see the ridiculous things I do to amuse myself while driving.  For example, when I pass the airport and see the "Caution:  Low Flying Aircraft" sign, I duck and cover my head, and whenever I see a sign that says "Watch For Ice," I give a wide-eyed, alarmed look and stare wildly all around me.  I also throw my hands in the air and say, "WHEE!" whenever I head down a steep hill, but really, who doesn't?

I suppose things could be worse.  I'm probably not going to make any friends on island, but perhaps, by the time I leave Orcas, I will be the stuff of legend.  I may even become as famous as Umbrella Man.

The Santa Cruzans out there will understand
Now there's a healthy goal.

1 comment:

  1. I think you need to go to the Keys sooner than later Mija! :P