Sometimes I act a little crazy. I talk to myself. I talk to people who aren’t there. I sing in the car. I sing out loud. In public. I’ve walked down Bardstown Road with headphones in, singing along at top volume. I’ve also walked down Bardstown Road giving a speech, so I could practice before I had to speak in front of a crowd of people.

When I lived in Spain, Mark sent me cassette tapes with music on them, but he also made voice recordings with little messages. I would walk around Sevilla, listening to the tapes and talking to Mark. I took him on tours of the city, showed him the torre de oro, la giralda, made him smell the orange trees. It was comforting to pretend he was with me, because spending three months away from him was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

I have a teddy bear that I have not slept one night away from since I got it when I was 11. Before that, it was a blankie. Before that, it was literally a cloth diaper, affectionately nicknamed “the dipey.” My bear brings me comfort. It calms me.

But, aren’t we all a little crazy? Isn’t that the beauty of being a human being? Your brain is running the show, telling you to do all kinds of wacky things, or not to do them, or telling you what you ought to be doing, or forgetting what you are supposed to be doing. It’s tricky keeping yourself from becoming a slave to the voice in your head that could be guiding you down a slippery slope to total insanity. The key is to listen to the voice when it tells you to sing in line at the grocery store, but ignore it when it tells you to skip work and start the day with a margarita and a donut. Embrace your quirky OCD habits, but avoid walking naked to the convenient store. You have to do just enough crazy things to keep yourself sane.