There is a hole in the ceiling just outside the door of the room where I sit typing at this moment. It’s a small hole, one that provides access to the plumbing leak in the bathroom above. It also represents despair and madness – I hate spending time repairing stuff instead of doing something more productive. So much so, that whenever I decide to finally fix things around the house I develop a maniacal laugh of sorts that drives a wedge of uneasiness between me and anyone within ear shot, including my dog.
I was not born with the laugh. It surfaced after my first and only ice fishing trip. It took professionals the better part of ten years to determine why the sight of a hole, specifically one through the ice, brings on uncontrollable laughter and a crazy-eyed stare. Little orange flags waving in the wind produce a similar result.