I need help.
I’m not dynamic enough. I repress my feelings. I express my emotions in the wrong way. I project into the future. I fail to live in the now. I dress too passively. My shoes are aggressive. My hair says more about me than is socially acceptable. My mother never held me enough. My father held me too much. My body is being attacked by self skin hatred. My mind is being raped by onanistic protoplasmic envy. My cheese sandwich hates me. God won’t return my calls. I am slightly askew. My posture is apoplectic. I have cooties.
I’m in a bad way.
I have never shot a man in Reno just to watch him die, though I did once watch my mum trip over the curb with arms full of shopping and nearly wet myself laughing. My shoe laces are dissatisfied and when I look in the mirror I see a sign that says ‘closed for renovations.’ My eyes are so crooked they appear and function completely normally. I’m sure I can touch my toes whilst still standing, just as i’m sure i’ll only be able to achieve this feat after being mangled in an horrific car accident of some kind. Speaking of which, I once drove myself up the wall. Literally. My landlord was not happy.
I believe that which does not kill you makes your trousers stronger and that the size of a mans feet can tell you a lot about the size of his grandmother. When little I used to eat the skins of all fruits, including the watermelon, the apple and the leper next door. At the age of twelve I came last in the “So You’re Twelve” world championships and when I turned 21 I was three years older than my previous age.
I think swimming is a poor substitute for drowning. The number seven is far inferior to the number three and fairy floss is made from the remains of super models. If pushed I would say that my favourite Star Wars film is Herbie Goes Bananas and if pushed when on a cliff top, I would probably fall to my doom. I hope that if I am ever knocked down by a vehicle it is an ambulance. I think the only sane form of government is one entirely populated by the Muppets. In my most recent past life I believe I was a close talker and if offered the last piece of cake at a get together I always refuse it by feigning death until everyone goes to bed.
What I’m saying is, I’m human.
I give myself a hard time, sometimes, for things that should be celebrated. You know, those weird, bristly, pointy things which make us interesting. We all do.
You are a glorious car crash of humanity and i look forward to picking through your bones and telling the authorities wildly exaggerated facts about you.
I love your penchant for nibbling on others toenail clippings. I celebrate your love of frotting against hard things and I will die for your right to speak exclusively in Klingon.
You have earned the right.
You survived. You made it here. That was a hard won fight. It is not a given that we arrive.
You are a heavy weight champion of life.
Do whatever you fucking please.