Crazy or Creative?

I’m off from my “real job” today.  You would think this means I am sitting here, pounding feverishly on the keyboard as my WIP comes to breath-taking life.

Simply not true.  So far this morning I have checked my Twitter account 17 times, checked Facebook 8 times and even checked my Tumblr account and my Blogspot blog.

I do not have a desk so I do this awful “hunch over the laptop on the coffee table” thing that is seriously taking a toll on my back.  I think at this point I should probably invest in one of those “lap desks” or whatever the hell they’re called.

So as I write my novel (or attempt to really) I conjured up another creative idea.

A book detailing the thoughts of a crazy person.  Kind of like a journal of sorts.  The thing is, they will be my thoughts transferred from demented mind to paper.  I joke around that I am crazy.  I have morbid thoughts, disturbing thoughts… crazy thoughts.  I suppose most writers/musicians/artists do.  Thank  the gravy that God gave us all a talent to put it to good use instead of taking our thoughts out on the living.

Now, I have never been officially diagnosed as “crazy” per say. But I often feel crazy, like I do not fit in.  Not to mention the exorbitant amount of people who have called me crazy and meant it. Conversations that often go:

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“Ha! Thanks,” I say with a playful smile.

“No. I mean it. You’re a sick fuck.”

“Oh,” I say as the smile fades from my face.

It is lonely at times.  No one gets me.  I am continuously terrified to really be me out in public.  Sometimes I cannot help it and kind of let loose.  This is something that has plagued me all my life.

I have gone for tests, but always knew the right answers and chirped them out with unabated enthusiasm.  Does this make me a psychopath?  I have never killed anyone (seriously).  I don’t even kill bugs.

So what’s the deal?