Coming Back From Crazytown

Crazytown is the one place on the planet that really really sucks to visit. Primarily because it can be lurking around any corner in any town or inside any nook or cranny on the planet. My trips to Crazytown are never my own doing. It always involves someone who is standing there ready to grab me.

Which is sad, because of all the places I love to save my money to travel to, it costs nothing, other than a few nerve strands, to go there.

A trip to Crazytown usually means that someone else is dragging me there – with their paranoia or vulnerability, their depression or loneliness, in tow. I’m a fairly patient person and give people a lot of room to maneuver with their baggage, but dragging me along? Nope.

Dragging me to Crazytown accrues some pretty foul karma for the person doing the dragging. And that is none of my doing. It just is.

Good luck with that.

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