Definition: Unconventional and slightly strange.
These are my people.
It's a pity that children are taught from the moment they are born that there are certain ways, and only these ways, to do things.
Indoctrinated into the "normal".
*shudder*
I love eccentric people.
Hell, I AM eccentric people.
Growing up, I was the epitome of the good child. (My blessed mother will even back me up on this one." But deep inside of me?
I wanted to run barefoot through the woods and talk to trees and chat with fairies and be invited to mad tea parties.
I wanted to climb a mountain and scream at the top of my lungs while the wind whipped around me.
But I had my moments.
I remember literally dancing in the rain at my bus stop in junior high. Humming the song and doing a little kick out with the rhythm while the rain poured over me.
I remember walking in creeks in the woods and wondering what wonderfulness I would stumble across.
I suppose I made my own adventures.
Now that I'm older, I EMBRACE that shit.
When I get lost, and I so do, I love it. What things will I see that I normally wouldn't? Where can I go, and what can I do to feed my restless spirit? And while physically visiting places is incredibly wonderful, the most precious places to me are in my own mind.
Talk about chaos. Talk about madness.
Talk about eccentric.
The local newspaper interviewed years back, and I explained that I hear voices in my head. Hell, that may have even been the lead, I can't quite remember. But it's true. I hear dialogue and see scenes. I'm there while I'm driving or working or running errands.
Authors are weird.
Of course we are.
And isn't it magnificent?
Always writing*
These are my people.
It's a pity that children are taught from the moment they are born that there are certain ways, and only these ways, to do things.
Indoctrinated into the "normal".
*shudder*
I love eccentric people.
Hell, I AM eccentric people.
Growing up, I was the epitome of the good child. (My blessed mother will even back me up on this one." But deep inside of me?
I wanted to run barefoot through the woods and talk to trees and chat with fairies and be invited to mad tea parties.
I wanted to climb a mountain and scream at the top of my lungs while the wind whipped around me.
But I had my moments.
I remember literally dancing in the rain at my bus stop in junior high. Humming the song and doing a little kick out with the rhythm while the rain poured over me.
I remember walking in creeks in the woods and wondering what wonderfulness I would stumble across.
I suppose I made my own adventures.
Now that I'm older, I EMBRACE that shit.
When I get lost, and I so do, I love it. What things will I see that I normally wouldn't? Where can I go, and what can I do to feed my restless spirit? And while physically visiting places is incredibly wonderful, the most precious places to me are in my own mind.
Talk about chaos. Talk about madness.
Talk about eccentric.
The local newspaper interviewed years back, and I explained that I hear voices in my head. Hell, that may have even been the lead, I can't quite remember. But it's true. I hear dialogue and see scenes. I'm there while I'm driving or working or running errands.
Authors are weird.
Of course we are.
And isn't it magnificent?
Always writing*
No comments:
Post a Comment