2002-10-25 at 9:03 p.m.

Have you ever seen someone walking down the street, moving erratically, behaving oddly, and constantly mumbling under their breath?

There�s a man who used to catch many of the same buses as me. He always sat towards the front of the bus, in the seat that faces backwards, so he was facing the rest of the bus passengers. Periodically- lets say every ten or fifteen seconds- he would quietly mutter �No. Stop it. No.� under his breath. This would continue for about five minutes, until he would half stand up, and shout at the entire bus-

�NO! I SAID STOP IT! NO!�

Then he would quietly sit back down, and resume his incessant mumbling.

Privately, I nicknamed him �Dr. No.�

Nobody wanted to sit too near to Dr. No for very long.

There�s another guy I see wandering around the streets quite often. He has a long beard, fairly dirty and scruffy clothes, and a snare drum strapped to his back. He wanders, seemingly aimlessly, around the inner city, muttering quietly to himself. Occasionally, he�ll busk, tapping randomly and carelessly on his snare drum. I�ve decided that on the day he learns one- just one- coherent rhythm, that will be the day I drop a coin in his hat. (I�ve since found out, from various sources, that he�s from a family of �old money� that he has nothing to do with anymore, and is quite an authority on the music of Shostakovich.)

We�ve all seen people like that. They inhabit the small towns, and the big cities. They belong to pretty much every demographic. And what is the first thing we think when we see these people?

�That person is batshit crazy�.

Ladies and Gentlemen- witness my future.

I�ve always talked to myself. Both my parents do, and I think I picked it up from them somewhere along the line. I think everyone does a little talking to themselves- particularly when kitchen utensils are involved, for some reason.

�Right, turned the stove on� where�s that fork? I had it a moment ago� oh, there it is. Now, beat the eggs� get that pan out� no, where�s the other pan? Right, spatula. Oops, made the pan too hot there. Oh well. Now I�ll pour the eggs into��

And so on. I know very few people who can cook a meal in complete silence.

But today- well.

I decided I was going to walk to the Conservatorium today. Walking directly there, the trip takes me about 40 minutes. But today I decided to do a little browsing through the op-shops between my house and the Con.

There are a surprising amount of op-shops between my house and the Con.

Stupidly, I had decided to walk on a day where the top temperature was 32 degrees Celsius. So, I toiled through the heat in my long pants, cursing quietly under my breath.

While I was looking through my second op-shop, I noticed that some of the staff were staring at me strangely. While this would have been the norm in my purple haired days, it was a bit odd for it to be happening to me now. My hair was normal looking. I wasn�t dressed particularly weirdly- well, no more weirdly than usual, anyway. I didn�t look like a potential shoplifter or criminal. Just as I resolved to simply ignore them, I realised I was doing something a little� well� odd.

My bad tempered grumbling about the weather had turned into an incessant stream of muttering. Basically, I was verbalising every thought that ran through my mind.

�Ooh I like that shirt damn it�s too small oh well I need some more collared shirts hey that�s a nice tie it almost looks like Slytherin colours but not quite oh well I�ll get it anyway urgh I�m all sweaty stupid heat no I don�t need any more skirts I never wear them anyway yuk that�s an ugly dress looks like it was made by blind midgets in the forties hey I wonder why that lady is staring at me��

As soon as I realised what I was doing, I clamped my hand over my mouth. This elicited an even wider stare from the lady behind the counter. I gave her a weak smile, quickly finished my shopping, made my purchases, and hurried away.

Sadly, this was not the end of it.

During my walk, I caught myself babbling a further four times.

�Wow I really liked that song they were playing at the last shop I wonder who it was by I should have asked oh well I�ll look on the internet tonight hey look a pet shop I might go look at the kittens hello little kittens how are you today not trying to matchmake anyone I hope ha ha oh I have to go and buy some purple ribbon to make that belt so I�d better cross the road ARGH! I�m doing it again!�

Each time, I had no idea how long I�d been going on before I caught myself. I also realised that I was wandering erratically from shop to shop, speeding and slowing my walking pace quite often, and generally behaving very oddly.

I have been described as �eccentric� by my friends and family before. The good ol� Macquarie Dictionary describes eccentric as-

1. Not conventional; odd. 2. Not concentric, as two circles or spheres.

While my figure does bear a more than striking resemblance to a sphere, I will assume that definition 1. is the more relevant definition here. What the dictionary is missing, though, is definition no. 3-

3. A very polite way of saying that someone is batshit crazy.

So, what do today�s revelations mean? Am I doomed to wander the city streets, muttering nonsense? Will I become an untalented female version of David Helfgott? Will people on buses start to carefully inch away from me?

Only time will tell.

I live in my own little world. But that�s okay. Everyone knows me here.