Normal Shit

Even if I could, they wouldn't appreciate it.

You know whats not normal? I'll tell you whats not normal.

Fucking.Valentine's.Day.

Fuck you!

Yeahhhh, that's the way to start this shit. Its been awhile.

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Ok, so someone just now told me I was not normal.

Errr...so here's what I think.

With me, normal is having a good shit after I had my first cuppa joe in the morning. If I didn't feel it was good shit, the day wasn't going to be good. And this idea of what "normal" people do hasn't applied to me in so long that I've completely lost touch with the whole idea of errrr...what is normal. I don't wear what is hip and I donn't fuss with my hair. I wear the shit that I like because I like them.

I dig action movies, comedies, animation and entirely too many TV series for my own good. I used to like reading comics and my favourite still is Spiderman. I also write shit. And I hate it when strangers touch me. I, on the other hand, like to touch. Them ladies especially. I do live on my own terms because I was educated through interactions with other people that trying to make them happy was only going to fucking kill me. I know who I am and I am very good with that.

The only normal that I care about is normal for me. It's simple. The things that make me happy are the things that make me happy and I refuse to make apologies for that. So fuck you.

There are things that I am comfortable doing and trying, things that I can be convinced to try, and then there are things that if someone tries to push me into doing, they'll find out what my fucking brown ass looks like while I walk away.

I find people who thinks that other people are strange to be not normal. I think people do this because they want to be more comfortable with themselves and reassure themselves that they're okay, that they're right and that they're normal. That isn't my job. I'm cool with being polite and civil, but I don't need to fit your conformity. It won't help me. It won't soothe me. And, in all honesty, it would never work, it would just feel like wearing a too-tight pair of jeans after wading through a fucking lake in them. And wahts up with the tight jeans I see these days anyway? I can't make them see the ocean of mega stories in my head, the characters swimming to the surface so that I can know them, the poetry that dances through my neurons. The hugeness of my fucking ego.

That would be like me shitting a bad shit on a Tuesday morning.