Perfectly Crazy. A phrase coined by an old friend combining his proclamation that I am crazy with my snarky comment about perfection. A contradiction, of sorts, like those seen in those obnoxious Starburst commercials. Yet a phrase more indicative of my present life than any I could come up with, and I’m the one who is attempting to be a witty writer.
The fact that on February 29th, in Ada, Ohio, the town capable of being 40 below on any given February day, the temperature reached 68 degrees and I was dancing across campus in a sundress, soaking up the sunshine. Perfectly crazy. The fact that being 1/3 of the way done with my doctorate I changed my major to literature. Perfectly crazy. The way I am happier than I have ever been, finally know what I want, know who I am, and am making so many life changes. PERFECTLY CRAZY.
This friend, who came up with this perfectly fitting combination of words to title my life, has seen me at my worst — in fact, probably worse than worst. Hell, I don’t even think there is a word to describe what he witnessed. In fact, I bet if he put two words together to describe me four years ago they would have been clinically crazy. Or horrid bitch.
Which leads me to another perfectly crazy event, the full circle that has gone. The boy who would have every right to never speak to me again and shun me from his life, coming up with a statement so descriptive of my life. So blog-worthy. I say it again: perfectly crazy.
I’m an entirely different person than I was four years ago, or even two. Hell, I’m different than I was three weeks ago. But I am, for the first time in my life, me. And I think that the next time I’m asked what words I would use to best describe myself in one of those icebreaker games everyone hates and never knows the appropriate response, that I shall simply say: perfectly crazy, and it will be the truest words I’ve ever spoken.
Oh, and as promised, kudos, friend. Although,its for a hell of a lot more than the phrase.