I am Chief Bromden. What an odd realization. It quite disturbed me when I realized how very true this is. First off, you may notice the late hour of this blog post. Tonight I opted to delay all my work until fairly recently, when I realized the long list of tasks in front of me and had a mini mind explosion. In keeping with the Chief Bromden metaphor, I would not see the screen of this computer due to the heavy fog that would engulf me. I decided on the easy route out of my stress and checked off one of the easy, optional ticks on my list and made cupcakes. So, my third period Calculus classmates—enjoy your baked goods at our mega-birthday party tomorrow. They are overflowing with love…and stress…literally—I may have gotten a bit overzealous in pouring the liquid joy into the freakishly small bake cups. If this behavior isn’t archetypal escapism, I don’t know what is. I might as well feel a fog rolling over me.
On to my second strange comparison, you may or may not have noticed, but I rarely speak in discussions. I act the same way at my house. My family is one of six very opinionated, stubborn, talkative people. I fall at the end of that line, so I have learned to sit back and listen instead of joining the fight for talking time. I do not mean to make any excuses for missed discussion points; this is something I am working to improve. But I acknowledge that I often act like a deaf mute in AP English, sitting with a wealth of points to make, but listening and watching instead of joining the group. Anyway, I also do not talk out of sheer frustration with my dad. For example, last night, my mom, dad, and I talked over dinner and my dad brought me up and talked about me, in the third person. It was very odd; I sat feet away from him thinking how strange the situation was. I thought of Bromden’s similar experience with the intruders in his Indian home. Maybe I should act on this realization that I act so eerily similar to Chief Bromden. Perhaps some shock therapy would do the trick?
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