Rilaly's Blog
Simple Truths

Words: 2,090

Rating: PG.  Some situations may be unsuitable for minors.  The one offense is relatively marginal though.

Daisy Monroe

Daisy Monroe is crazy.  She may not fit the stereotypical depiction of crazy, but she fits the defintion.

Mainstream messaging has made it difficult for us to recognize crazy when we see it these days.  We expect truly crazy people to trill their lips with their fingers, like they do in the movies.  We expect them to say the same things over and over, like they do on TV.  We expect the crazy to hurt themselves, or have an outburst that clues us into their mental wellbeing, like they do in the books we read.  We expect that we will know crazy when we see it, but all these exaggerated depictions have made it difficult for us to recognize the fully functional crazy people that walk and talk among us.

The first thing that threw me off properly classifying Daisy Monroe was her happiness.  Daisy appears to love life in a manner that no fictional depiction of a loon would permit.  She should at least be morose, I think when she speaks, or cynical or neurotic or ridden with a little angst.  While she may be a little cynical, this aspect of her personality does not stand out in a manner that would help you classify her.  Daisy Monroe smiles a lot, and she laughs a great deal.  She is also polite and well schooled in the social protocols of the day.  She also does her best to remain topical to participate in the conversations of the day, and she has a sweet disposition.  Anyone who has watched a show on TV or a movie knows that the insane do not have sweet dispositions.  Yet, even some of the most deranged minds can hit their marks.

It is important to note here that Daisy Monroe is not racist.  She is simply lacking that certain something in her brain that makes connections.  “Is that Smokey Robinson?” she asks.  My back is to the wall of television sets in our employee cafeteria.  I have to twist and strain to see the TVs.  I don’t know why I am interested, but I turn to see what she’s talking about.  I thoroughly scan the TV’s and I don’t see evidence of the soul crooner.  I assume the segment is over by the time I turn.  I turn back to her, and she’s still looking.  “Which TV?” I ask, turning back.  “TV number three,” she says.  A nature program is on TV number three.  A monkey is on the nature program on TV number three.  I turn back to Daisy to see if I’m audience to a sick, racist joke.  She continues to peer into the TV, inquiry on her face.  “Daisy,” I say, “that’s a monkey.”  I continue to read her face.  I look harder into her face for the sign that will eventually break that tells me that this is simply a sick, racist joke.  Daisy relents.  Her eyebrows arc acknowledging that her observation is incorrect.  She is not a racist is the only thing I see in that face.  She is simply lacking that certain something in her brain that makes connections.

On another day in the cafeteria, Daisy tells us of the few times that she has seen a ghost.  “Be wary of the sixth floor,” she says.  It’s not much of an intro, but it has us.  We’re all looking at her while she eats.  “Oh, you haven’t heard of the ghost?” she asks.  We all basically acknowledge that we haven’t.  Daisy Monroe gets excited.  It’s her time to shine.  Her face is beaming.  She has scoop.  She is the center of attention.  She patiently reels out the bullet points of her story.  She is thinking that she has us all on the edge of our seats.  “I saw it once in my periphery,” she says, “and when I turned to get a full view it was gone.”  She looks at me, “I know, I know that could’ve been anything.  I thought as much for a number of weeks, until I saw him on the sixth floor.  I’m surprised you guys haven’t heard of it,” she says pausing for dramatic effect.  She is trying to be an adept storyteller, and she is attempting to keep us on the edge of our seats with her patient storytelling.  “Anyway,” she says when it’s obvious she hasn’t laid the groundwork too well.  “I caught him up there.  Yes, I can verify for you all that it is a him.  I was just finishing my work up there, preparing to go on the elevator, when I turned and saw him eating chips in a chair watching television.”

Now I know that it’s not impossible for a ghost to eat chips, and I suppose it’s also possible that ghosts watch television, but it just seems so unlikely.  It seems to me that if ghosts do exist, they should have something better to do.  It seems that, upon reflection, a ghost would realize how much of his life he wasted watching television, and he would try to make up for that somehow by having a more fruitful post-life experience.  It would also seem to me that there are so many archives to go through in the post-life world that would be so much more fascinating.  You could answer questions that plague mankind.  You could go through some kind of time loop and stand on the grassy knoll in Dallas, Texas, on the November 22, 1963 to see how the JFK assassination occurred.  Why would anyone who has passed beyond the living want to waste anymore time watching Who’s the Boss reruns with a bag of chips?  I suppose it’s possible.  I suppose anything is possible.  I suppose there’s some greater message about modern man to be made here in the habits and routines of modern day ghosts…if they get so bored haunting us and such that they end up watching TV.  It just seem so unlikely though.

Daisy Monroe doesn’t suffer the maladies that inhibit the daily lives of most crazy people.  She isn’t delusional for instance, but she has her illusions.  This is why it was so difficult for me to come to grips with the fact that she used to be a model.  The idea of the pain of childbirth occurred to me when she told us that.  I almost let it be known how much I was struggling with that notion when sense got the better of me.  I almost said: “You have got to be kidding me?”  I almost screamed it.  The shock and awe of my tone probably would’ve been quite insulting, and I was happy that I had been so well schooled in the social protocols that prevented that shock from being apparent.

She doesn’t suffer a malady that would prohibit her from executing some high level tasks, but she has a circuitous manner of getting from point A to point B. Daisy was put into the role of trainer for me.  She was a more tenured agent, and the boss thought it would be beneficial to those of us less tenured agents to have a refresher course on the mechanics of the job.  The goal of the boss’s exercise was to give us a different perspective on the job.  She taught me that.  She also taught me, in her circuitous manner of getting from point A to point B, a definition of crazy I had never been introduced to before.

I often play with the minds of those around me.  I often take that which is rational and make it irrational.  I then place that which is irrational in a rational sheath to see what the mental warriors around me will make of it.  Some will attempt to place the subject firmly back in the rational category with a quick explanation or rebuttal to that which I’ve offered.  Others will simply look at me with a confused look and try to forget what I said in the first place.  Then there are those that I will not engage on this level.  They are the insane.  They are the scary ones.

Daisy is not a scary one.  Daisy is not that far gone, but Daisy is fun to take into this fire.  She doesn’t understand this game I play.  She tries to make sense of it.  She tries to firmly place the subject matter back in the rational category with a quick explanation or rebuttal, but she isn’t as successful as some at this.  She doesn’t even convince herself that I’m being irrational, as her continued efforts to debunk my thought display.  She probably thinks that I am being high minded and making a point that she doesn’t understand.  She probably thinks that I have a greater point to be made.  Some of the times I don’t.  Some of the times, I just like to see people dance in the fire.

The fire is a place outside the normal, rational, and mathematical constructs of our world.  The game that I play introduces the subject to the idea that that which they hold dear may not be true.  The game that I play is a test of their confidence in their standing in the normal world.  Her struggles suggest to me how often she is outside the normal world, and how often she is forced to try to find a way back.

I’ve seen a cavalcade of reactions, and each reaction defines a person, and their position in the normal world, more than they know.  After a couple dances outside the mathematical world, Daisy usually tried to avoid taking my hand and heading into the flames.  At that point in our friendship, she began to dislike the notions I posed to her.  She didn’t get angry.  She didn’t do anything to suggest she was struggling with it.  She simply tries to pretend nothing was said.  She appears uncomfortable in that world I take her to, and she usually went to great expense to avoid going there with me.

Daisy has also developed an almost undetectable defense mechanism to protect her irrational world: she throws the first blow.  Mike Tyson says that everyone has a strategy, until they get hit in the mouth.  Daisy Monroe’s strategy is to hit first.  Rather than bobbing and weaving from perceptions, and dancing to enhance perceptions, Daisy strikes.  “I’m a tough old broad,” she tells us.  No polite person would challenge such perceptions.  No one says, ‘really, you strike me as fairly weak?’  Very few even challenge such perceptions internally.  Most people work from the premise that is provided to them.  Most people are relieved to have a premise provided to them, so they don’t have to go through the messy, confusing, and inconsistent practice of building perceptions based on experience.  Some people live their whole lives fearing what others will think of them.  Daisy appears to have decided that the best way to avoid that messy fire is to provide a pre-emptive perception to you.  She gives you characterization, so you don’t have to characterize.  She gives you the fiber of her being, so you don’t have to add up her reactions to arrive at a conclusion.  She’s not artful in her methods either.  She’s blunt.  It’s her undetectable defense mechanism.

Throughout the course of our lives, we develop little games to keep a layer of protection over our wounds.  For Daisy, this means throwing a blow that was unprovoked.  When she says that she would never let a man change her, those of us paying attention know that she secretly wants a strong man to come into her life and coerce her into subtle change.  When she says she’s not a crier, we can know that she knows she cries way too easily.  When she portrays strength in any regard, we get the feeling that she’s a naked, little swaddling that needs the protection only illusions can provide.

She is crazy though.  If you can get passed all of the defintions of crazy that our mainstream messages provide us for crazy, you’ll see for yourself.  If you can get passed all the clouds she has provided to herself all these years to cover her crazy, you’ll be able to provide her independent analysis that can only lead to one conclusion.  If you can get passed all of the smiles, the jokes, the happiness, and the idea that she remains topical for the discussions of the day you’ll see that she’s a fully functional fruit bat.  The only question that will remain after you’re done thoroughly and indepently analyzing her is how many fully functional crazy people walk and talk among us completely under our radar?