Crazy

A little while ago, I was spending a bit of the morning with the Fake Wife, and we got to talking of this and that. For some reason I told her that I believed that my shampoo was responsible for making me bald, and if I used a different brand all my hair would grow back. Then we moved on to talking about her Christmas trees or something.

I don't believe that my shampoo made me bald. She doesn't believe that I believe that (I hope). And I don't have the kind of brand loyalty it would take to accumulate evidence to support or contradict the proposition that particular soaps and detergents have any impact on hair growth. But I do say stuff like that once in a while.

But the conversation returned to memory while I was washing what's left of my hair while I was in the shower. I don't wash my hair anywhere else, that would be crazy. And I realized that I don't really worry at all about being crazy, but I do worry a little bit from time to time about seeming to be crazy. Not much, but probably enough to keep me somewhat in line.

One of the characteristics I see in the genuinely crazy people, though, is their indifference to this. They are often aware that what they're doing looks or sounds crazy, but they don't care; and I have to say that they seem strangely liberated by the fact. Concern for social reputation is a bit of a burden, it's true, and the crazies have rid themselves of that baggage.

Conversely, I tend to be more concerned with being smart than looking smart, which in a way makes smart the anti-crazy. Of course, it's pretty hard to get, and keep, a reputation for being smart, but pretty easy to get, and keep, a reputation for being crazy.