On Latent Insanity and a Little Profit.

In tonight’s episode of Hangsaman, Natalie Waite remembers the time as a child when she realised that breathing was automatic; it wasn’t something you had to force yourself to do. And she remembers having thought how laborious it would be if you did have to constantly force the process. And she further remembers how she had suddenly realised that all the time she’d been thinking about this she had been breathing automatically without being aware of the fact.

This is the sort of thing which touches a chord with me because it’s the sort of thing I used to think about as a child. So does it indicate that I, too, was in the process of developing some sort of dissociative condition? I don’t think so; to me it’s simply the result of having an inquisitive nature combined with high awareness.

But maybe I’m wrong; maybe the question should be framed: does having an inquisitive nature combined with high awareness as a child indicate latent mental illness? Am I really quite mad after all? Is there a psychiatrist in the house?

*  *  *

I bought a pack of three pairs of socks today. The shelf ticket gave the price as £3.99, but when I went through the checkout the till charged me £4.50. I wasn’t in the mood for making a fuss and decided that 51p was an acceptable price to pay for not doing something I wasn’t in the mood to do, so I let it go apart from telling the cashier that they needed to put it right

And then I went to Sainsbury’s, and one of my purchases was a pair of West Country Cheddar Stick bread rolls priced at 55p each. When I went through the checkout the cashier couldn’t find West Country Cheddar Stick bread rolls on her screen, so she called a supervisor. The supervisor couldn’t find them either, so she handed me the bag containing the comestibles and said ‘They must be free today. There you go.’

It means I made a profit of 59p, so now I have to decide whether 59p profit is sufficient to justify an extra scotch by way of celebration. Causes for celebration are rare in the life of JJ.

(Is there really anybody out there who is remotely interested in either my state of mind or my little adventures in Ashbourne? I can’t imagine why there would be, so I don’t suppose there is. But at least writing about them gives me an excuse to carry on breathing, automatically or otherwise.)