An Imp

Sometimes I like to ponder what it would be like to lose one's mind. I would like to believe that insanity is a slowly developing ailment, so one with a scientific and logical mind could observe the path that it wades through your consciousness. I would like to think that if I was going insane that one moment, walking down the street, I would see something so absurd that I would be forced to comment to myself "I'll be damned, I'm losing my mind." Then I could take out my notebook and write in my scraggled walking-down-the-street handrwriting "LOSING MIND" in large letters, so that I don't forget it. Unfortunately, I think this is simply the most convenient avenue of escape for a mind to take. I think, since insanity is in its essence an erratic type of thing, an inconvenient type of thing, that it rarely takes the path of least resistance. It probably just starts pulling wires. I imagine that I'll be eating a bowl of cereal or soup, depending on the time of day, and some sort of hideous imp will climb out of the cupboard wearing a small, imp-sized tuxedo and make a comment like "the purple crayon is the most delicious in the box, the entire parliament agrees." and I will promptly drop my spoon and go to my drawing table and start chomping away obsessively on the purple. I won't be able to logically tell myself "A man of my social status doesn't eat crayons." I'll probably just, you know, think they taste like grapes.