"That's not normal", she said, with her scowlfull guesture. Scrutinizing my every move. I concentrate on not moving. Even breath pattern is game for review by the Board of Normalcy. A burning irritation torches away one inch adjacent to my mouth. Damn,...I knew I should have used a clean razor. A chemical residue still lingers from my shave. Not a word is spoken from the tounge and I sense the evaluation, the judjment probe seeping from her pores. I can't fly under radar this time. She's caught me; a wierdo, an irregular specimen. At times it seems I like being odd, off kilter a tad, ungetable.....you know, just not with all the shit, off centered. It's fun going on like this; okay just one more. Truant form the herd...There. But I guess I don't really see myself relating to someone else fully, and that becomes, somewhat bothersome. I hate it when people don't get me,or what I do, or what I laugh at. Well I guess I don't hate it. It is quite amusing sometimes. But someone you love, and who poses to love you,..when they don't get you, you are nothing. That's what it seems like |
Submission Name: On Being Not Normal :
