The turf war

The scientist within me stands back and analyses. I watch myself. I measure my own reactions. I rationalise what I am doing. I find explanations for everything and nothing.
All around me people are wishing me Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. It's all I can do to acknowledge their existence never mind reciprocate their wishes. I mumble something along the lines of "thanks, the same for you." I don't even know I'm saying it. I feel awkward. I have become that odd boy everyone laughs at. The socially awkward boy who says inappropriate things. Except I carefully say nothing. I am hiding my awkwardness inside of me.
I get an email asking me if I will help organise a Folk Festival this year. I got the email last year, last week. It's taken me until today to reply. I write that I could not reply right now. I'm not sure if that makes sense so I elaborate on my condition. I read it back to myself I sound insane. I delete my reply. I'll try again another day when I don't assume the mantle of someone totally deranged.
 My closest friends know what I'm like, they make allowances for my strange antisocial behaviour. My dark humour. My silence.
I have two more weeks of this before I return to my normal self. I can't wait. To be able to think clearly again. To rid myself of this God awful two month headache.

On the plus side a customer came into my shop she said "Did you see that?"
"See what?"
"In broad daylight as well."
"What was it?"
"I... just... witnessed... a drugdealer. Dealing drugs in... the.. street."
"That's what they do. Was it over there?" I pointed towards the Smack Crack and Cocaine Emporium.
"Yes on the road up there."
"Hmmmm he's getting careless."
"who?"
"The dealer."
"You know him?" she looked visibly shocked.
"Not as such but that's his van outside the house."
"No it wasn't a van it was a blue car."
"Oh this is serious." I said gravely.
"Why?"
"we could be in for a turf war..."
"Should we call the police then?"
"NO why spoil the fun?"