I think ever since May of '99 I've advocated that I was anything but normal, and I mean that, going as far to suggest that I was, in reality, some type of arctic trout. The word "sane" probably fills the role better than "normal", clearly demonstrated by the prior statement. Apparently, tho', even before this site, I was never what one would call crowd stuffing. You know, assuming anyone actually believed that to be a commonly accepted expression in any society. This rambling nonsense should only move to strengthen my already strong point. I'm out there. Down the holler, past the gravel road. Just keep going until you hit the ionosphere. Then, grab a telescope. Gonna need it to catch a glimpse of me.
When younger, some kids are lonely, sad saps who have no friends. Those losers deserve the title I just gave them. Thank goodness that wasn't me. No, I had something worse than no one at all -- an exact double. Genetically and behaviorally, an identical twin never parted my presence for longer than a day for twenty some years. Do you know what it's like to be constantly reminded of yourself when you hate yourself? It's probably not good for the psyche, nor was reinforcing negative and bizarre attributes in efforts of one-up-isms with one another.
I had one friend growing up. Discounting family, there was just a single chum who I bothered with. And yes, I do prefer my diluted way of looking at the situation. There were casual acquaintances from school and such, but I'd be lying if I said I knew anything about them outside of their names, assuming I could recall that fully now. People weren't something I sought out more of as I was non-physically attached at the hip to my twin. People weren't where I placed my focus, creations were.
Ever since I was a wee tot, I've been making characters, story lines, settings, and whole worlds to contain them. Stretching way back when I was five or six is where I credit Super Strawberry's birth. The guess is unfortunate, but I had yet to regularly time stamp my sprawlings back then. Nowadays, I have creation dates marked and remember the "birthdays" for more recently cherished characters. While many kids my age (through a lot of ages, actually) where playing games, I was designing them. They sucked, of course, but that's how I geared my mind even then -- don't consume, concoct. I wasn't content being a sheep. Shepherd, sheep-dog, or even a hungry wolf were the roles of my aspirations.
I remember exactly what I was doing the night of my senior prom. Of course, I was not in attendance. I mean, really. Who would have assumed that? Even starting down that road of thought is poor judgment. You don't even have to know me. Anyone given this page could just infer that fact off the bat, which would then be used to bash in my pathetic loser skull. It would be an act of mercy over violence since they'd be doing me, and the world, such a favor. Anyhoo, that evening I pulled out an old, ratty notebook that I hadn't touched since, oh, five or four years prior -- all of high school and then some. Contained within was the third in a series of role playing games that I had left half finished. That night, I set to do it right. While work would continue a while into the coming summer, that evening saw a new determination and complete redefining of how the game worked. You know, making it actually plausible and not one-hundred percent crappy. This is the night I'll always remember from my adolescence. I mean, it's not like anything more worthwhile was happening around that time frame.
The next example skips ahead a few years. One time when I was hanging out in an internet relay chat room, waiting for someone who I didn't hate to log on, some of the noisy, detested regulars tossed out a link. Being before the dawn of You Tube and other such suck-fests, I paid attention to it. It was a "quiz your friends" test maker to allow one to see how well their buds really knew them. Which, I guess would just be any generic quiz maker. Regardless, with no real intent on anyone ever seeing it, I haphazardly filled one out and saved the link to it somewhere.
Time passed and I had no idea what I even did that night out of boredom. It was rediscovered some months later and couldn't recall in the slightest what type of questions padded the thing out. They were supposed to be answers that people who "knew me" would know. Pretty sure the closest to that lot utter "Who are you again?" commonly. The first question I put was about my user names, the many of them, and which was first. A commonly told tale that many should be privy to, nothing much. The second was on the character that my currently popularized user name was based on. Still touching on me, and still littered across the internet. What followed, the remaining eight, were exclusively about properties of mine, like the mix that went into Not Quite Heroes and Legends of Idos. It didn't have the slightest semblance of self-reflection. The thing was, these questions all were about me.
I'm a husk. I eat and breath, but any trace of humanity died long ago. My body is fueled by a maggot riddled brain, each little worm being a fragment of the insanity composed across the past two decades. They are all I am. I live my life to simply serve them. I care nothing about myself, nothing for my well being or enjoyment. I just gotta push those worms out into other people's heads. The easiest way to do that is by spilling them onto some paper 'cuz I'm gonna be leaking anywise.
People have pictures on their desk of family, photos for their desktop of the people they know and places they've been. That's pretty standard anywhere you, right? I have an ink sketch made at a conference and the most recently made piece of artwork that fits a wide, rectangular shape set as my desktop. There's no photo frames or mementos from trips taken, but there are some figurines I made from Sculpey and some discontinued toys from the late '80s. Not normal; not even close.
People seem to find it shocking that I moved from Ohio to Michigan with no family or friends in the area, and after two years still hadn't even attempted to correct the latter. That wasn't any of the worries I had when moving up here. I've set sail and rode rails before, leaving everything behind and heading into the unknown. Truthfully, nothing is being left behind. I actually have a prior of these rants that goes over when I realized how I lacked any sort of friends, so I won't touch base on those. I care not for people and places. Things aren't even all that important. Ideas are my nouns of choice, and I produce those like breath.