Woe

I think this bug I've got has a component to make one think sorrowful thoughts.

Or maybe I'm just going through another one of those moments.

I feel like I'm doing a bang up job of pretending to be normal. And the idea stings.

I mean I've had those reading Philosophy while listening to classical moments, that reaffir my oddness, or my reading things that other wouldn't get and I get excited about the topic; those are more lonely times. The sudden awareness that these are not your people.

I'm not saying I'm the last son of an alien planet, though that might explain a few things (particularly the difficulty eating earth foods :) ) but I'm more aware then ever right now that I'm painting with a palette outside the visible spectrum of those around me.

I love it when Julz laughs and tells me she thinks it's fun to hear me talk sometimes because the things I say and think about are so unusual, though sometimes the word useless is used and that can sting a little.

I know that some people have no use for the things I pick up and play with, but useless.

I dream sometimes that there is a place where I can play with runcible foods and paint in invisible palettes, where wearing adult sized camoflaged pink footie bunny PJs as your outfit to run errands in would make the day of everybody who saw you.

Where I could paint and draw and sing and sculpt and sew and write write write in a way to manifest my inner realms as a place to share in this world. The darkest of sorrow and silliest of giggles. To have others want those things that I have locked away because there is no place for them.

....

take care of yourselves.
Roving Jack