…and then I began to think, maybe each human being lives in a unique world, a private world, a world different from those inhabited and experienced by all other humans. And that led me to wonder, if reality differs from person to person, can we speak of reality singular, or shouldn’t we really be talking about plural realities? And if there are plural realities, are some more true (more real) than others? What about the world of a schizophrenic? Maybe, it’s as real as our world. Maybe we cannot say that we are in touch with reality and he is not, but should instead say, his reality is so different from ours that he can’t explain his to us, and we can’t explain ours to him. The problem, then, is that if subjective worlds are experienced too differently, there occurs a breakdown of communication…and there is the real illness. – Philip K. Dick
School today was decent, generic. Eight hours of ticktock numbing class, followed by a half-hour of cold recess with my equally irritating classmates (ahmagawd – did you see that pix of her like, like, MAKING OUT with him? Like, ahmagawd!)
I was struck by the anonymity of the status quo coming out of school. All around me – gaggles of giggles and talk of didya catch last night’s Passion of the Gabilanes? Slicked-back hair in imitations of celebrities I do not know, condescending smiles, tucked-in uniforms, glossy designer back-packs.
I had to wonder: am I included in this? Don’t get me wrong, I do not consider myself superior. I just find myself to be different. So different from them – they, the supposedly normal ones, if only because they constitute the majority – that I should be a separate species altogether.
Which, I have decided, is a good thing. So what, if I’m not like you? Screw that. Screw the typical trend of the typical whiney mediocre teenager girl brat, wanting to fit in but also craving a spotlight for her own damned individual uniformity.
I’m weird, and I’m going with it.