Crazy buffet

Crazy can't be crazy by itself.  Crazy needs a partner.  

I am not that partner.  I go with quiet interludes between passionate hours.  I pair well with honesty and humility.  On every third breath, I can match up with the best of the ornery.

But I don't do crazy.  I don't fight over things not worthy.  I don't search phone records looking for reasons to leap the line of sanity.  I don't blame the people who didn't know.  And I don't hurt people to feed my own ego.  

Some people need the drama.  Some people can't feel wanted unless there are two otherwise sane, fully functioning adults chasing them as though they were the last pleasure on earth.  Some people crave faked pregnancies and blocked numbers.

I am not one of those people.

I don't need my phone blowing up to feel sexy.  I don't need threats of murder-suicide to make it through my day.  And I certainly don't need to drag someone else into a mess of my own making.

One crazy person cannot sustain themself.  They need an equally idiotic partner.  Maybe they even need a third helping of insanity to complete the buffet-o-wacko.  

I will not sit at that high school table.  Keep the crazy where it belongs, gorge yourself on it even.  The rest of us grown folk will be over here, bored and peaceful.