My Rules

As a rule, I never reveal anything more than a hint of my feelings. I certainly was a weird kid; quietly sitting in one corner, imagining all kinds of scenarious and play-acting them with dolls. Other kids I know were screaming around for ice-cream and speaking out loud to themselves when playing with Barbie.

I never spoke a word. The script spoke by itself in my head. Always only in my head. So people thought me mute and dumb. I only looked at them and wondered why they asked me stupid questions.

It was fun for me I guess. I was in my own world, up there. So many possibilities with so few props. Of course the occasional butt-in by a loud, screechy sister was never welcome. Of course I exploded. But I never won anyway.

That doesn't matter.

I just wonder why people care so much about what other people think. About others and themselves. Sure they're interesting. As gossip I suppose. But gossip as the main topic of all conversations is pretty sad, isn't it? No life-ers.

I just think it's a waste of time and brain power. I'd rather try to comprehend the wonders of life. Like the orgasmic experience of falling off a 50 foot cliff.

Hmm. Growing up is certainly not fun. I can never remember worse experiences than making mistakes. That's why I hate memories. Well, close to hate anyway. I'm practising selective memorising. I only remember what I want to. It's very convenient.

Well I don't bloody care what people think. Of others, of themselves, of me. I just want to achieve my goals before I die. Life's too short to bother ourselves with who said what.

I just wish I hadn't been so much of a weird kid. Otherwise I'd have people I can talk to. I've lost touch with the world. I don't know what to say anymore. Hmm. Solitude can either make one go crazy, or the rest of the world crazy.

Hey, it's me or them.