Crazy

Editor's note: Crazy, written by Willie Nelson and sung by Patsy Cline, is the song I used to rock my children to sleep with


What do you do with your spare time? Anymore “spare time” is time driving from point A to point B, and so my quality time is time spent in the car. Still, I shouldn’t complain, because my drive time isn’t loaded with kids as I am mostly driving to work or driving to school, whereas my darling wife is driving to the kid’s school or is working on the kid’s problems.

I should be honest. I can really enjoy my drive to school. But most of that is my Ipod, and most of that is remembering to plug it in, charge it and getting the latest podcasts. Otherwise I am stuck with two and a half hours of yours truly, and that is, well, tedious. (At this point I should probably do an Oscar-like thank you to those of you who have spent serious time in the car with me) It can be an emotional experience. I don’t passenger well. Usually I get car-sick. I am prone to flights of fancy, or flights of fantasy. I can be joyful, bitter, soulful and annoying. I am highly critical of your driving, and I hate talk radio.

Let us pause here.

Talk radio is, well, horrible.

I hate it.

I hate Diane Rehm, though I listen to her constantly.
I listen.
I listen until the callers call in.
I can’t listen to the callers.
I can’t listen to the vitriol.
Can you?

The Republican Party is so…
(I like this)
(I hate this)
I turn off the radio.
I drive
I turn on the radio
I listen
The Democratic representative believes…
(I like this)
(I hate this)
The show continues…

I cannot stand the vitriol.
It makes me angry.
I do not want to be angry.
(I blame the radio.)

At this point if you were to stick your fingers in your ears and whimper “Na Na, Na Na Na Na” you would get the idea.

I hate vitriol.
I hate conservative god fearing republicanism.
I hate my slavish dogmatic loyalty to the other side.
I hate this.
I hate this.

I hate this.

How did I end up here?

Isn’t that the question I ask myself most often?

How did I end up here?

Is it the radio? The kids? The faculty? The insane look I get from people I think understand me?

Am I crazy? Or is “crazy” a word I made up to make sense of my misunderstanding of the world?

That’s crazy.

I read somewhere that acceptance is the answer to all of my problems today.

O.K. I accept that I cannot change the what people on talk radio believe. I can only change the way I react to it.

O.K. While I am waiting for that to happen, I turn off the radio.