On ECT and the Prodigal.

I electrocuted myself twice today, crawling under the electric fence which surrounds the field next to my garden. The first time I did it I suspected my own stupidity. The second time removed all doubt.

But then I wondered whether fate was giving me a little hand here. They used to routinely electrocute mad people in less enlightened times, didn’t they? It was considered a most efficacious cure for non-conformist mental states. So maybe I did myself a favour today; maybe I’m now less mad than I was when I got up this morning.

I really can’t wait to walk abroad among my fellow humans and hear somebody say:

‘Oh good morning, Mr JJ. I must say you are looking somewhat less mad today. Are you feeling quite yourself?’

‘I am, I am, Mrs Grimpenmire. Myself has never been so felt as it is on this fine morning. Might we talk about the weather, do you think? And would you be so kind as apprise me of all developments in the wondrous array of soaps of which I intend to avail myself this evening for the purpose of endless delectation and the assurance of a miraculous recovery?’

‘Oh let’s, Mr JJ, do lets. It’s such a pleasure to see you coming home like the prodigal in the dear Book, ready to take your place among we happy band of normals once more.’

And what a happy day it shall be, and how high my heart will soar to be finally dispossessed of the trials incumbent upon a non-conformist mental state.

But knowing my luck, it will all have worn off by tomorrow. I’m going to watch the second half of Cloverfield now to see whether I can find something to bolster my spirits.