How Crazy Jim discovered love.

Never ever was I a handyman. In the traditional/common sense. Maybe because I have a mental block. When it comes to fixing things. Mechanical stuff, that is. But hey, I’m pretty good at dealing with mental problems.  Wouldn’t mind being a psychoanalyst. Figuring out people. And what motivates ‘em.  Maybe I don’t always do it accurately. Can’t always be sure. But I start by trying to get people to psychoanalyze themselves. By making suggestions. By making them a character in a novel. Yes, to get them to imagine living inside a world in which they can be anything or anyone. That tells me something. Usually, something meaningful. I’m not afraid to ask questions. Of others. But especially of myself. I’m fascinated by the thoughts that flit through my mind. Other minds, too. Minds were made to think. But many of ’em are broken. Shut down.  They need fixing. Maybe it’s that some people are afraid that they might go crazy if they started to think. But I’m not afraid. Because I am crazy. I consider that an attribute.  A desirable trait. Don’t mind being Crazy Jim. That’s how I discovered love. By going bonkers.  -Jim Broede