Crazy

The word crazy comes up quite often in this single life. Last weekend, I heard it twice.

Once was from my good friend. She was talking with a guy from the neighborhood the other day. When my name came up in conversation, he said, "She's crazy." What he meant by crazy is a mystery since I only know him as well as hellos and a few short conversations at the local pub. He's extremely tall and young, and he told me I'm a MILF a couple of months ago, and he doesn't know me at all. A little crazy?

There's a huge difference between acting crazy and being crazy. This guy watches the world from his at least 6'5" vantage point and doesn't often participate. He just observes from way up there. So maybe it's the clothes I wear that make him think I'm crazy. Maybe it's because he sees me talk to most anyone or because I always hug my friends. Maybe he doesn't like that I can't reach him for a hug. Or maybe he heard something about me - true or not - that makes him think I truly am crazy.

On the opposite extreme, my new good friend, the one who seems like one of the good guys, told me again over the weekend how together, stable and not crazy I seem to him. That's why he likes me. He admires that I'm so normal but still have fun. Live life. I feel the same way about him. We've spent a lot of time together in this new year, so he qualifies as much as most to have an opinion.

I've noticed we single girls (and guys too) get a little crazier than normal after a breakup. It's part of the process for many. Part of reaching normal again, and that's okay as long as it doesn't become dangerous or last forever. That's where I am.

Everyone needs a little crazy. It's what gives us personality; what makes us human. Without a dose of crazy, we would be like Stepford wives. Robots. Aliens. We would no longer be human.

I'm not changing, so love me or not; crazy and all.

Love to the single girls,
Addison