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Sunday, August 2, 2015

Apparently I'm Cognitively Disturbed.

When I was bored this afternoon and floundering around on the Internet, I came upon an interesting site and did that ink blot test, you know, the Rorschach test, and I’m sorry to say, the results weren’t that good.

In fact, the scientists very gently advised me that I’m cognitively and psychologically disturbed. 

My Results!!!

Even though I suspected I might have been slightly eccentric (in a light hearted, whimsical way), I never dreamed it would come to this.

I made Scotto do it immediately after me, hoping it was all a terrible mistake… but apparently he’s normal… and I’m not.

So what does this mean? Should I check myself in somewhere? Should I start wearing a white jacket specially designed where the sleeves are sewn together and take to rocking in the corner of the room and howling at the moon?

Maybe I should have seen the signs of mental instability before this...

My obsession with dogs for a start, I mean, what normal person owns four dogs?

What normal person has five kids in six years, then, when the kids grow up, buys four dogs and a cat?

What normal person has violent arguments with the garage door and other inanimate objects when they don’t work properly? What normal person thinks plants talk to them and then writes about it on her blog?

What normal person makes major life decisions based on the title of the next song that comes on the car radio?

(I shouldn’t have told you that one, should I?)

I’ve often reassured myself when the notion, I’m crazytown, creeps into my thoughts, that the experts say if you THINK you’re going mad, then you’re not.

But here I am, seemingly mad as a cut snake, as crazy as a hat full of arseholes.

It’s not fair. I don’t want to be mad. What if I ever want to join the army? I wouldn’t pass the ink blot test. I’ll never be a policewoman, or a pilot, or a fireman or ambulance driver or anything else that requires a modicum of sanity.

I wonder if teachers are allowed to stay in their job if they’re mentally unstable. Maybe that’s what’s pushed me over the edge? The constant everyday struggle with little or no recognition has propelled me into the abyss of lunacy after all these years.

But now I think about it, years ago I applied for a job and it came down to between me and another girl. They gave us a psych test to make the final decision.  I was probably crazy back then too. I remember the guy telling me I didn't get the job because of the results of the test. Did he look at me with pity or was it fear? I can't remember.

It’s the word, ‘disturbed’ that disturbs me the most.

Maybe I should just take the test again. I think I know the answers now. I’m sure I could do much better next time.

Or maybe some of you could take the test and be all disturbed with me so I’m not so lonely here in the land of the nuts.

Please? Prove to me I'm okay xxx

In the meantime, while you're doing the test, I’m off to run around naked, all through the neighbourhood, uprooting flower beds and singing Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport (because that’s what I usually do on Sunday afternoon).