Today I’m buying hand vacs and learning about lithium while the Jetsons is on in the background and my sanity is teetering on the brink of something, only I am not sure exactly what. I laugh hysterically, at nothing, or is it something? Just my own mental smut.
Yesterday I felt great. Like I was high, only better… and there were no drugs involved.
I can feel the prying eyes around me as I openly express what’s inside my mind and soul with no regard for what they might think. For this is me, and if I can’t be me, then who the fuck can I be? “They” say that all creatives are a bit off kilter, so if that’s just something that comes with the territory then inject my ass with a picnic and no sandwiches baby, because sandwiches aren’t my style. But lucky charms… now THAT! That makes me smile.
Hypersensitivity is something that you learn as you try to understand yourself and gain perspective on who you are. Why you do the things you do, when and what made you, you. This wasn’t something I was particularly interested in previously, but now it is both interesting and engaging, and even a little bit enraging.
Normal is a setting on a washing machine and I know that ain’t the direction that I’m gonna be, so I embrace the wholeness that is me even if it means the occasional bout of irrational thinking. Like buying hand vacs that I don’t need, laughing hysterically at commercials about dill weed, or bingeing on books that I’m not gonna read.
Crunchie bars and mini eggs, Japanese toys, and beer dregs… Poetry, fiction, and Toki Doki… High End cars and almonds that taste smokey. Tattoos and art, pretending to be a rock star, enjoying the things in life that are somewhat bizarre.
I am not a washing machine, and even if I was… Normal, wouldn’t be one of MY settings.