Once upon a time I went crazy. (Not really, this is just a fantasy of mine.) I think it might have been the kids that finally tipped me into loopyville, or it could have been my husband's fault, or maybe it was just a general lack in fiber that did it. I'm not sure. (Especially since this never actually happened.)
In the height of my crazy I was out of control. Charles Darwin might say that I lost millions of years of evolution in a matter of moments. Carl Jung might say that I was drawing on the collective conscious of primitive man. Jane Goodall might say that I was positively behaving ape-like. And the neighbors might say that I was sitting on top of my roof wearing nothing but Hello Kitty underwear and a rain poncho flinging poop at passersby while swearing like a sailor. (Maybe this can be a "choose your own adventure" type post, so you get to pick with theory you'd like to go with.)
(In this fantasy) EMTs arrived on the scene, and dodge poop while they attempt to get me off the roof. Except that I'm super duper crazy by this point, so I'm not going anywhere. So one guy had to sneak up behind me with a syringe while another guy distracted me with a tap dancing giraffe in a beret and knickers. I totally fell for it too. And I didn't even notice when the needle jabbed into my arm and plunged me into a dreamless deep sleep.
I got to spend 3 months in a drug induced happy trip. I think I was strapped to a bed. And I liked talking to the nurses about the butterfly robots floating above my head or the molten lava I kept in a kiddy pool in my basement to ward off evil gnomes. (I might actually get that molten lava pool, making this post semi-true-ish.)
On the third day of May, on a gorgeous, sunny, but not too hot, afternoon I suddenly wake up. And I'm not crazy anymore. I'm all better. Scratch that, I'm MORE than all better. I am extremely well rested, I have the mental capabilities of a rocket scientist, and I have somehow lost all but 3% of my body fat.
And I think, "Man, going crazy was AWESOME".
Disclaimer: Going crazy is not actually a good thing. Not that I would really know since I'm not even insane AT ALL. (Last line= also a part of this fabricated story I've been telling.)