I find often that people think I'm at my funniest when I am trying my hardest to be the most frank. It worries me less and less, though, that I may just be genuinely different. It amuses me likewise that I cannot even fit in among Rennies (or SCAdians), theater people, or genuine nuts. I sometimes wonder if there's not some handy disorder that I can blame it on, whether it be autism, Asperger's, or something yet undiscovered. Sometimes I settle for just quoting the Worf-like guy from 12 Monkeys: "I am mentally divergent, in that I am escaping certain unnamed realities that plague my life here." Other times I think I am different because I refuse to settle for less. I could buy garb and swords and run around molesting wenches, but after I was done, I'd still feel as empty as I do every other day, but I'd likely just be more confused and would certainly be poorer.
Funny moment: On the way home, my cell phone rings. I'm still in NY at the moment, and so it's highly illegal for me to even take the call. I quickly excuse myself and tell my sweetie that I will call her back later. I end the call with a kiss as I almost always do, completely oblivious to the other people. Suddenly, the car erupts in 'aww's punctuated by Dan asking me: "Wait— someone actually dates you?" Ahh, moments.
I love that I'm burning all my CDs to .mp3. It's an act of sheer laziness, as it means I can listen to all my music without turning around in my chair and grabbing a CD from the rack behind me. But it's inspired such industriousness in me as to cause me to begin putting my CDs back together in smaller, more organized stacks than the one giant pile I have behind me. And I've been cleaning up my room, even dusting. I'm reading more, as well, as I have convenient, non-TV background noise. And I put my laundry away instead of leaving it in baskets and taking it out as needed!