Completely Around The Bend

The old lady across the hall is insane.

Well, I guess senile would be a better word for it.

She's benignly insane... She'll occasionally get out of her flat and wander up and down the hall, sometimes stopping to talk to the garbage left outside the Refuse Room.

She doesn't even really bother her husband. But he will yell at her to shut up when she gets on his nerves.

That usually happens about Hour 3 of her incessantly singing "Jingle Bells" in Cantonese with just one word; dang or kip, depending on her mood.

I honestly think he doesn't understand that she's crazy as a bag of rats (not hamsters, Yung Yung...) and thinks she's just not paying attention or something.

Two years ago, when Sidney and Angie came with me to look at this flat, she engaged them in a lengthy conversation, encouraging them to come back and play with her any time they wanted. Even though my Cantonese was (and still is) horrendous, I could see the universal signs on Sidney's face of "I didn't know this person was a whack-job until I started talking to them..."

Sidney even made 'Jingle Bells' my personal ringtone in his phone for a while, in her honor.

She doesn't seem to bother their Filipina helper either. She just talks to the old lady in  English. Which is funny, since  the old lady  doesn't speak it. I think that may be the helper's defense mechanism or in-joke, and she's welcome to it.

Once, in the midst of a quiet morning, the old lady started screaming "Help! Help!" and making the most blood-curdling noises of terror I'd heard in a long time. Their door was open and I am sure the whole hallway and probably most of the floor heard what sounded like a real live murder in progress.

After about ten seconds, she stopped.

A quiet voice said "Honey... what are you doing?"

A moment later, I heard "Kip kip kip, kip kip kip, kip kip kip kip kip..." and it was back to 'normal.'


================================================
I worry sometimes that I will have a similar fate.

My father's mother died of Alzheimer's, and so did his brother. He's a little loose in the brain pan his damn self. He and I have a tacit understanding that if he starts down that road, I'll take him into the woods for a hunting accident.

The term 'wasted youth' doesn't just refer to opportunities; I am a child of the 70s, and some of the things I did in the 80s make me a candidate for a brain that may decide to retire ahead of the rest of the organs, a right I made it earn: I won't say that seeing things like your best friend turning into a tossed salad is a prerequisite for living, but it has added a certain, special something to it.

It would be only fitting if I ended up losing my mind; I've invested a lot of time, money and effort into this brain, and it would seem ironically hilarious for someone with as many letters after his last name as there are IN it to be reduced to a single-digit IQ simpleton, looking and sounding for all the world like an 8 year old with a severe glandular disorder.

At least I wouldn't write any more run-on sentences, huh?