Weird Girl

I'm sitting on the couch watching the second to last or last episode of Lost (I think), without having watched any other episode after the first handful. My ten year old cousin was here too, knowing just as much about it as I did, asking questions from time to time but fairly patiently watching. Well, he just got up and, unapologetically, left. I, on the other hand, am rooted to this spot, confused to the point of mesmerization. I don't know that I'm exactly interested, or just waiting for my mind to clear. 

While I am sitting here doing this, I realize at some point I forgot to write about all the other important things going on in my life. I sort of finished my semester - same grades as always - and I'm in fucking South Carolina, for crying out loud. I mean, I've been updating to that end on Twitter, but I realize if I have a readership and it doesn't overlap, they must be severely confused. But isn't that an indulgent thought? At any rate, I'm at Folly Beach, which is named thus because this is where the pirate Blackbeard cornered himself upstream hiding from the navy, was caught, and then killed, and I know this because I am clearly the coolest kid in school.

There is, in fact, a disappointing lack of pirate legend and lore down here, however. Doesn't anyone else care that the Golden Age pirates hid all over this stretch of coastline for decades? Alas, I am a nerd. I shall not be loved and accepted except by nerds. Which, I guess, is why I never really fit in at these family things. Might be the red hair, piercings and tattoos, too, that probably has something to do with it. But you know, those things are a part of my personality. I may be naturally blonde, but on the inside, I have always wanted to be a redhead, I'm not fully expressing myself or happy unless I'm a redhead, and I'm supposed to be a redhead. My piercing, I took out for months - a year - a few years ago, and it never healed over. It's meant to be there. My tattoos all have meanings for me. These things are all a part of me. 

Some people change their appearances to hide something; others to express it, and I express. Today, my sister told me I should become a tattoo artist. I told her, I'm kinda far along this track, I can't really just quit. I did tell her about my hero, Emilie Hafner-Burton, and her nose stud and her phoenix tattoo, and how I'm going to vindicate myself eventually. I was reading today about the bohemian bourgeoisie, whom by my career choice I will eventually join, and how in order to maintain our identities and prove our detachment from the material and the mainstream, we must sport a tattoo or a motorcycle, and so I feel like by the time I get there, society will catch up with me, haha. There's a justification. But really, no one's ever said anything about my weirdness, and the people that really, really matter accept me for it.

And sometimes they say that stupid bullshit about how I'm not weird, or how everyone's weird, or who wants to be normal? Shut up. I identify with "weird". I like it. I want it that way. And I don't need anyone to make me feel better about it. Just love me, and don't talk about it. Jerks.