Menoysterical [men-oh-iss-tiry-cul]; the condition of being in fits

Have I mentioned that I cackle?  Not sure.  It's the menopolyxinaemia y'see.  Forgive me if I have.  Giggling was always there.  Famous for my giggling.  Even been known to snort on the odd occasion worth the embarrassment.  But cackling?

Goes with crone territory I guess.  In the middle of the night sometimes - given that one is highly insomniac and therefore awake enough to be aware of one's nocturnal activity - a random thought will occur and cackling will ensue.  Used to be there were night beasties in the trees over the fence there who would make cackly-sounding noises.  Since the cackling has become a normal inside the window, they've gone a bit quiet.  Or maybe I just don't notice them any more.  Joined them instead.

Then there are the chatterbox whitterings.  You know, the thing provided in email sites which permits live conversation through finger work.  Love the chatterbox.

Mostly it's Aitch and me on that thing.  Mainly because of timings.  India's stuck between OZ and UK; average 5 hours difference either way.  At the time I'm mainly active online, generally speaking it's only Aitch who's around.  Aitch has been a friend pretty much from the first day I arrived at Claydon Secondary Modern School.  Many centuries have passed since then and we're still making mischief.

Our kind of mischief.  Tame and civilized compared to many.  We, rather, were known as the goody two four shoes of the school.  We counted in our circle, though, some varied and different characters.  Looking back as I type this I can see that perhaps that core five were of the personality type known as 'eccentric' by virtue of not fitting into nice tidy categories such as 'troublemaker', 'sportster', 'whiz-bang genius', 'teacher-pleaser' or 'out-and-out brown-nose'.  We were library-based and free-thinkers.  One, (a character you will read more about in due course) kept the entire school entertained with her weekly cartoon magazine.  All hand drawn, with verbal contributions made by the group and sometimes by those outside of the group who, if they asked nicely, would be featured.  I may have this wrong (menosoup attack), but I think perhaps the article on the headmaster led to some difficulties.

Point is, we were often to be found in hysterics on the library floor.

My departure to climes different resulted, as so often happens, in loss of immediate contact with all but Aitch.  Through her I have kept abreast of how other members of our school group have fared.  All very different.  All well in their various paths.

Thing is, Aitch is not the most attentive of writers.  We could go a whole year without hearing from each other.  The friends you bond with this deeply  though, are as strong (if not more so) as family and when you reconnect, no time has passed, it seems.  Since I have succumbed/been forced to utilise modern technology to the extent I now am, something has dawned on me.

Aitch is nothing but a chatterbox after all!  She won't mind me saying so.  It turns out the direct contact is more her thing.  Immediacy.  I get that. 

We've been cackling together most Mumbai nights for the past several months now and it has been great.

Menosoup shared fills the pot of creativity.