About a week ago, I noticed a scruffy looking guy sitting near the front of the bus. He wouldn't have been that noticable if it hadn't been for several noisy bottles clanking around in his grocery bag. He set the bag on the floor of the bus and the bottles inside the bag kept falling over. At one point, he got angry about this and jerked the bag harshly, causing an even bigger commotion. Even the bus driver craned his head around to see what was going on.

Well, apparently the grocery bag was filled with big bottles of booze. He couldn't wait to get home to indulge. He unscrewed one of the bottles and guzzled from it. Then he screwed the cap back on and set it back in his bag.

Imagine my surprise when just three nights ago, this same guy got on the bus... AND SAT DOWN NEXT TO ME! He, once again, had a bag full of booze with him. He reeked so bad of... alcohol? It must have been alcohol, but it was a stronger alcohol smell than I was used to smelling on anyone.

He took a few guzzles from one of the bottles in his bag. I couldn't tell what kind of alcohol it was because it was wrapped in a brown paper bag.

They (the experts?) say that alcohol is a form of self-medication. As I sat next to this alcoholic, my heart went out to him. I wondered what kind of terrible life he must have had to get to this point. The point where he buys several bottles of alcohol every night and polishes it all off... every night. I thought of Leaving Las Vegas. Surely this poor guy won't be able to live long at the rate he's drinking.

Then, yesterday morning, I had the pleasure of sitting right across from a crazy homeless guy on the bus. He had a duffel bag and his sleeping bag with him. He was angrily muttering to himself, as if he was having a conversation with someone. "I've had a hard life... blah blah blah... I've got my own two feet, mothafucka!... blah blah blah, etc."

I wondered if he was hallucinating he was having a real conversation with someone or if he was re-living a conversation he actually had had with someone at one point in his past. Or was he just resonding to voices in his head? Yes, I was uncomfortable. But I had to ask myself why I was uncomfortable.

Everyone ignores crazy people who talk to themselves. Is this good or bad? Do they feel ignored? Do they just want someone to acknowledge them? What would have happened if I had responded to his rantings?

This morning on BART there was an early- to mid-20s dirty guy sitting near me. He arrived with his McDonald's breakfast and as everyone knows, you're not supposed to eat or drink on the trains. You could be fined +/- $250. This didn't seem to deter him. He opened his food and started chomping away, mumbling to everyone as he ate. "I don't normally ride the bus in the morning time", etc. After he was done eating, there was egg on his face. He didn't wipe it off.

I never studied psychology in-depth, and I'm not too familiar with mental illness. However, mental illness fascinates me. How did they get like that? Why?

In any event, I hope it never happens to me.