A Question of Balance (original) (raw)

Yesterday I lost my mind � again. It�s weird. I lose my mind the same way other people lose their glasses or their car keys. In other words, it isn�t really gone, I just can�t find it. Still, each time it happens, it�s upsetting, because I�m honestly afraid I won�t find it again. And where do I look for my mind when it�s lost? That�s a hard one to answer. If I knew that, it would mean I hadn�t lost my mind in the first place. Or would it? I look in the usual places, I guess: the refrigerator, under the couch, in the neighbor�s mailbox. I might even look in the newspaper, under lost and found. Found: one mind, never used. Found: one mind, in very poor condition. Found: one mind, do you mind? The point being, I just don�t know. The point being, I wouldn�t even know I�d lost my mind if I didn�t suddenly get it back.

Did I mention that I�ve been drinking too much lately? Well, I have. Every day, I imbibe a quart of malt liquor, a quart of gin, a quart of whiskey, a quart of vodka, and a quart of schnapps. When evening rolls around, I really start drinking. In this condition, I make all sorts of interesting decisions. I live dangerously, as they say. But I never leave my chair, because I�m afraid if I do I�ll fall down and go boom.

As you can see, my mind is with me at the moment. Isn�t that nice? Shall we have a meeting of the minds? Go ahead, ask your mother if your mind can come out and play with mine. What�s that? Your mother has also lost her mind? What a shame. Tell you what: why don�t our minds get together and go out and look for your mother�s mind? Do you think she�d mind? Oh. You�ve got to ask your father. But he isn�t home, he�s busy having an affair with someone who never had a mind in the first place. So what should we do? Everyone raise their hands: all in favor of putting our minds together toward a useful purpose, say aye. All those against, say nay. Good. Now let us count the votes. The envelope, please. Hey, no one voted. What�s wrong with you guys, anyway?

I may have left out an important detail. Then again, maybe I haven�t. Also, it�s quite possible there are no important details, or that all details are important, or that details don�t exist at all, and life is governed by generalities. Please, be more specific. This is what I�m trying to say: they say life is in the details, but I say maybe it isn�t. I say, maybe life itself is a detail. Seems to me it�s a matter of perspective. Hence, the warning label imprinted on my forehead: don�t assume just because everyone else does, or you could get into big trouble.

By the way, I was kidding about the drinking. I�ve never ever touched a drop. So when I speak about losing my mind, it�s not because I have a drinking problem. I have enough problems without having a drinking problem. But if I ever find myself short a problem or two, I�ll start drinking, you can count on that. I may have lost my mind, but I�m not stupid.

By the way, I was kidding about the kidding. I really do have a drinking problem. But I�ve got it figured out: my drinking problem comes from drinking, not my other problems. See? Logic. And you didn�t think I had it in me. Of course, I was kidding about the kidding, too, but you probably guessed that already.

Dear Ma: It looks like I�ll be here for a long, long time. Don�t forget to write, Ma, you can�t imagine how much your letters mean to me. And don�t worry. I�ll be all right � someday. Oh, and by the way: were you kidding about your drinking problem, Ma? I sincerely hope so, because I always pictured you as the milk-and-cookies type. Well, I�ve got to go now, Ma, it�s time for our little get-together out in the exercise yard. Say hello to Pa, Ma, and tell him what I saw, see? Your loving son, Earl.

Dear Earl: Before I forget, Pa says hello. He also says he�s glad you�re locked up, because that�s where you belong. I made him biscuits again this morning. I swear, that man and his biscuits � someday they�ll both drive me to drink. Yes, Earl, I do have a drinking problem. I never had the courage to tell you before, but now that you�ve figured it out anyway, it�s true. There. I feel better. Oh, and before I forget, Pa says hello, and that he�s sure proud of the way you�ve stayed in one place for so long. Of course, I always told him you�d settle down eventually. Oh, and before I forget, Missy died. Your loving mother, Ma.

Dear Ma: I cried when I read your letter. I can�t believe Missy is dead. She was a good dog, like the sister I never had. Oh, and before I forget, tell Pa to go to hell, because he belongs here every bit as much as I do. And I�m sure sorry to hear about your drinking problem, Ma. But don�t worry, everything will work out for the best. Oh, and by the way: where did you bury Missy? Your heartbroken son, Earl.

Dear Earl: We buried him under the floor boards in your room. Gotta go, Ma.

Dear Ma: Won�t Missy stink things up? Earl.

Earl: What did you say? Ma.

Ma: Can�t remember. Earl.

Earl: Ma.

M: E.

And so it went until he found his mind in the alley behind some overflowing garbage cans. What in the world are you doing here? he said.

I could ask the same of you, but I won�t.

Okay.

And the two merged, and were mellow.

William Michaelian�s newest releases are two poetry collections, Winter Poems and Another Song I Know, published in paperback by Cosmopsis Books in San Francisco. His short stories, poems, and drawings have appeared in many literary magazines and newspapers. His novel,
A Listening Thing_, is published here in its first complete online edition. For information on Michaelian�s other books and links to this site�s other sections, please go to the Main Page or visit Flippantly Answered Questions._