What? My turn to blog and I don’t have any idea what to write about?
I know. You probably think by reading the stuff I’ve written on this blog that this never happens. Each and every week I spend, hours spread across multiple days carefully crafting each post. I know. It certainly comes off that way, but truthfully, that’s not how it goes at all.
In fact, each one is usually written in less than hour with the topic decided sometime earlier in the day, if not just seconds before I start typing.
Back on the old site when it was my turn to update and I didn’t have a topic, which was probably around three quarters of the time, I would just go on news sites and try to find something odd or that I thought I could write about in some way.
I could do that right now, but I don’t want to. Plus, you wouldn’t want that would you? I doubt it.
Just a couple of minutes ago my dad informed me that I am “odd.” I guess it’s not the first time he’s called me that, and it’s certainly nicer than some of the other things he’s called me in the past. I remember anytime I got upset as a youth he would compare me to a dandelion. And maybe since the time I was 10 or so, I remember him telling me I was “a load that should’ve been swallowed.”
Perhaps, but alas, I wasn’t.
Those things don’t bother me though. He’s just messing around (I think, L). But odd sucks. When I hear the term odd I think of those kids that had really greasy hair, also sat in corners and had their mom chaperone a field trip to a country in
But the point kind of being, I always thought odd people stuck out. People know them, and know them as “that odd person.” I don’t want that. But I guess I don’t want to be normal either.
I just want to be.
I want to go through my days without being noticed. I want to blend into a crowd, but even when I’m not in one. But odd people don’t blend. They sit in corners and do homework during Java Jive.
So I thought I’d let you, the reader(s?) help me decide if I’m weird.
- I tend to dislike most people, even ones I haven’t met.
- I don’t like talking, especially out loud.
- I don’t hate ice breakers because I think they’re stupid and that you can’t really learn anything about a person from doing them. I hate them because it forces me to speak. Otherwise I’d be happy to say my name and an adjective that describes me that starts with the same letter. Awesome. Done. What? An interesting fact about me? My family’s dog is named after Fidel Castro.
- I like to write because of my hatred of talking. I like to make stuff up, and make up people and have them say whatever I want.
- Yet I study journalism. So that eliminates the making stuff up parts and adds in talking to people. That sucks.
- I don’t mind eating by myself, but I have trouble doing so in an actual restaurant. In a park or cafeteria I’m perfectly fine, but the restaurant table for one is an issue. When I want to eat in a restaurant, and have to do so alone, I get a table for two and continually check the time like I’m waiting for someone. I pace back and forth either in the front of the restaurant, or outside in front of the place. Eventually I “give up” and go back to the table and eat alone. It also gets you some sympathy with the waitress. Well no it doesn’t. that was a lie.
- I’ve never gone through any type of break up, mostly because I guess that requires some sort of break in before that. But every few weeks I designate a night to get dumped. I turn off all the lights, play sad music, cry, eat chocolate and put on mascara- not necessarily in that order, though.
- I wish I had the balls to skip everywhere.
- Sometimes when I’m in an elevator I pick up my phone and start having a conversation with nobody to anger other people in the elevator.
- I can’t imagine any circumstance where I’d consider committing suicide, but the idea of a suicide note is rather interesting to me. I wouldn’t even know where to start. Probably with: “If you’re reading this you must know I’m dead. If not, check (I’d need to decide where I’d kill myself and put that place here). Sorry for the shock, hope I didn’t stain anything. So, this is awkward, huh?” I wonder if I’d just scribble it out on paper. I have awful handwriting, and I wouldn’t want anyone’s first reaction to hearing of my suicide to be about how I write. I wonder if I’d work on it for a while, type it up and print it out, maybe sign it like an official letter. Would I put it in an envelope? Would I make it long? What if my suicide note was long enough to be a book, and someone made it into a book and everyone loved it and thought I was this amazing person? I’d be pretty pissed.
- I like to drive around alone, or put on headphones, go into my basement and listen to music. I guess you can call it “me time.” I really enjoy it. I’m hardly ever around people, yet sometimes I still feel the need to be even more alone.
- I think I might write a suicide note and fake my death to see if I can publish a best seller.
- I probably won’t, probably.
- I masturbate to pictures of myself. I have a lot of really cute pictures of me in different poses in different outfits. It’s not like one picture of me from summer camp a years ago that I really liked that I just decided to start jerking it too.
So what so you fine people of the Internet: am I odd?
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