Who Am I?
Who am I? Oh, nobody. I’m a normal person with a
normal job going to a school that some say is beneath
me. (I don’t believe them, and I don’t particularly
care what they think--it’s my life, not theirs.) I
have normal parents, if that’s what you call them. We
live in a normal house. Well, perhaps on the nice side
of normal. Like all big sisters, I complain about my
little brother but I really love him. (Don’t tell him
I said so.) I have normal friends--the only unusual
thing is that I don’t have many of them. My friends
and I do normal things together. I do have an
exceptionally sweet, kind, caring boyfriend. See,
I used to think I was strange: I like the colour black,
I spell things weird (like colour and grey), I write
depressing poetry, and I work odd hours. (For now,
anyway.) I like to take pictures, too, even though I’m
not sure I’m even good enough at it to be called an
amateur photographer. And I have weird ideas about
life, about how people should be treated, about moral
and ethical issues. I talk to myself and to inanimate
objects. I didn’t have a social life. (That’s an
area I’m improving in.) I have somewhat eclectic taste
in music. That kind of thing. But guess what? There
are a million people out there just like me. There are
even other people who sent Ides of March cards (please, please,
don’t ask) last year. Well, I know of at least one
anyway. The point is, I suddenly realised that it’s
become normal to be weird. Isn’t that awful?
Back to my page or
E-mail me with comments.