There comes a time in every woman's life when she oversteps that boundary line of sanity and runs headlong into the picturesque countryside of Certified Psycho Town (CPT).
As for me, I guess you could say I've spent the past few weeks on extended holiday at the Hotel de Loco, CPT, U.S.A.
From what I can remember of the Land of the Rational, residency requires the continued application of justifiable and situation-appropriate behavior, which, consequently, does not normally include unprovoked anger, tears or violence.
All of which may or may not have happened in the past few weeks.
Assuming that an even-keeled girl has ever occupied my 5'3" frame (debatable, at best), I think I left her--"Home Alone" style--screaming and slapping her cheeks in a bathroom in Savannah, Georgia. It seems there just wasn't enough room in the ol' Audi to bring Rational Erin home from the film shoot. Understandable, seeing as how the back seat was apparently LOADED TO THE FUCKING SUNROOF with Psycho Erin's emotional baggage...
I know that when I left for my trip south, I did so with one laundry basket full of clothes and other belongings for my stay. So how is it that I returned home with a laundry list of crazy? It'd be easy to blame things on the trip. After all, 13 hour unpaid days 6 days per week, complete with rumors, gossip, multiple heartbreaks (just call me the Heartbreak Kid...Shawn Michaels reference anyone? "I'm just a sexy boy. I'm not your boy toy..." No? Ok. Sorry.) sexual harassment, 2 bar fights, a 21-year-old and a sunburn will likely qualify anyone for a weekend in CPT. But that isn't it. Because sleep remedies the work. And time remedies most of the rest. So what the hell is wrong with me?
I could philosophize for days. I know several people I have dealt with in the past few weeks could offer some theories, none of them flattering.
But instead I am going to go and wash the day's grime from my face.