I’m still on tour all this week so instead of deserting my blog I’m phoning it in with old posts you probably never saw. Today I’m in Brookline, Mass and I would be incredibly happy if you would come see me so I don’t have to be alone. Bring xanax. For both of us.
This post was from back when I worked in HR and I thought my medication was working properly. It totally wasn’t…
I was just in the office bathroom I saw this folded scrap of toilet paper on the floor and it looked like a perfect little man’s leg. Like the pant, knee, shoe…the works. And I was like…”Is it possible that someone made this little origami man leg out of toilet paper and left it here for me to discover?” And then I thought, “No. Probably not.” And that’s how I figured out that my medication was working.
PS. This post only makes sense if you have been on drugs to make you less crazy and have had that moment of clarity when you realize that what you are thinking is probably kind of crazy and it makes you less crazy for being able to recognize that you are being irrational and realize that some mad toilet-paper-origami-artist probably did not actually leave you a bizarre gift on the bathroom floor and you don’t need to pick it up and bring it to your coworkers so they can see its genius, but that you are still unstable enough to blog about it (in case there really is an artist leaving dismembered limb origami in public bathrooms) and also to write the longest run-on sentence in the history of the world.
So I guess what I’m saying is, you know…yay for slightly-less-crazy.
Updated: Okay, so many of you asked for pictures that I got my camera out of the car to photograph the tiny origami dismembered leg but when I went back in the bathroom it totally looked different so I thought maybe it got kicked into a different position so I’m hunched over, walking around it with a camera trying to find the original angle and then I realize that it’s not even the same piece of toilet paper. Then I see myself in the mirror standing in a public bathroom with my giant camera, circling a random piece of toilet paper so I can post a picture of it on the internet to prove that it looks like a tiny dismembered leg. Then someone walks in. On me. At my job. In the bathroom. With a camera.
Thanks, internets. Now I’m even more fucked up than I was before.