I often overlook a very obvious fact in my life. It deals with a discovery I made long ago, but evidently, I forget it quite often and become caught up in believing the opposite.
My brain is freakin' strange.
Yep, that's it. I never get used to it, which is very odd, since it's something I have been aware of since before I can remember. The only comfort I find in this comes with two profound truths, the first being that sometimes it's actually quite entertaining, the second being that, well, your brain is freakin' strange, too. Don't even try to deny it. Nobody believes you.
As I said, I don't remember the beginnings of my strange brain. It probably happened even before I had a brain, when I was still just a funny idea floating around the cosmos. God was probably like, 'Hey, it would be really crazy and hilarious if that thing actually got to be a person!' Thus, I was born. After I was born, I got to start doing things. Usually those things were boring, but sometimes they were strange, and haunt me to this day. Because involuntary thoughts are less embarrassing (since they mean I have a legitimate excuse as to why they occured), I will focus my examples of my brain's strangeness on dreams.
A couple days ago, I was reading a novel by Lloyd Alexander. It's called The Castle of Llyr. It's an excellent book, yet I somehow managed to fall asleep whilst reading. SOMEHOW. I guess it might have something to do with being insanely busy, like a recently beheaded chicken in a wolf's den, never getting a chance to lay its...neck...to rest. Because if it did, it would die by being eaten by vicious lupines rather than by its prior fatal situation. Alright, I digress; My life isn't quite that crazy. But almost.
Anyway, as I was saying, I fell asleep. And it was the adventure of a lifetime, I must say. First of all, I suddenly was Batman, and not Bryce at all. Batman has a much more interesting life, though after this dream, I can't say I envy him. For one, I never got to leave the same dumb building even once. Also, Sir Ian McKellan lived there. Normally, I would be ecstatic about being in the same building as Gandalf and Magneto, who are the same person. But in this case, he was one cantankerous old chap. He had this nasty habit of somehow getting a hold of my batarangs and taking them away. After he would do that, I, Batman, would feel a huge torrent of rage. Losing one's batarangs is a tremendous source of frustration, as you can well imagine. Every time he took my batarants, I had to trek all the way to the top of the building, were Mr. Ian had a nice balcony with a terrible view: it overlooked an industrial site with railroad tracks. I guess that means he was a bad guy, which I felt he was anyway, because he kept taking my batarangs.
At this point, you may be wondering why Sir Ian McKellan kept taking my batarangs. Because he liked to sit by them. Yes. He would take them to his balcony and place them neatly in a stack on the chair next to him, and then he would just sit down and do nothing. And whenever I came back to get them, he would get mad at me. So I developed a plan. I would make him mad, too. How? Simple: all I had to do was grab his tea-cup saucers and throw them off the balcony and watch the agony on his face as he beheld their doomed smithereens upon the railroad tracks below. Then I would escape him, and every time, there would be a really intense car chase inside the building.
I can't say how many times this process repeated itself, but it was a lot. Finally, I got to be Bryce Wayne again and not re-possess my batarangs, and got to spend an evening in a modern art gallery. Some nameless, faceless person was there with me, and was kind enough to create descriptive sentences that were intended to explain the abstract paintings to me. I woke up just after he described to me a monochromatic, blue painting. He said: "The mounted horse did awesome flips, then he went and baked a 12-layer pie."
I must say that, despite my love for Lloyd Alexander, this mad creation of my brain entertained me far more than the adventures of Taran the Assistant Pig-Keeper and his lovely lady, Eilonwy. I hope that next time I read that novel, I have a similar experience. It's good to be reminded of just how crazy you are, after all. Keeps things real.
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