You know, my beloved readers, I have to make a confession. I had rather a funny work story; I had it all written up. But then I wimped out, because it was controversial, and I don’t much like trouble. It is a consolation that my comedic writing is a bit dubious anyway. When the revolution comes, I will not be the first against the wall. I’m too cautious. Perhaps when the revolution gets to the paranoid stage.
I know. I made you a cookie but I eated it.
My metaphors, on the other hand, kick ass, as demonstrated by the fact that yesterday, I gracefully compared my marriage to cream-filled pastry. I am also not afraid of quoting poetry at people. I think I might have unintentionally antagonized a colleague with Yeats today. Let’s face it, if you’ve got to antagonize people, wouldn’t you rather do it with Yeats?
The question is not “Am I weird?” (not all that weird, really) but “How do I feel about being weird?” and I am ok with being a little strange. A little more strangeness would not be remiss. Perhaps time to read more comic books about Derrida (can I make that Kant? I really don’t like Derrida). Time draw more bunny ears on things. You know, own (pwn?) the weird. If not the brave so much.