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Transformation by Michael Tartàglia, © 2001 |
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I'm a wierdo What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here... - Creep, Radiohead, © 1993 I have a headache, I have extreme drowsiness, I am physically miserable, but, dammit, I feel really good. Friends of my brother invited me to a small get-togeteher. I was skeptical at first; why exactly I cannot say. I guess that I was only expecting me, my brother's friends, and maybe one or two others at this mellow shindig. When I walked in, however, the smell of freshly extinguished cannibus had fried up all memory cells holding my opinions of what was to come. It was cool there. It was a definite mellow, happy-to-see-you, let's-speak-at-100-decibals, watch-porn atmosphere. When I was leaving, however, I heard a phrase no one has ever spoken to me in my life: "Mike, you the s***!" I thought at first maybe the guy was way too tipped, but then again, is it easier to lie and harder to be honest when drunk? My life has not been very ideal, but, then again, who's life ever is? I admit that I actually switched grade schools because I was starting to have a nervous breakdown... at age eight. At my old school, which I will keep nameless, kids ganged up to make a complete fool of me. As a result of this psyche bashing, I developed a slight fear to socialise. I feared that new people would mock me, as those students did, so therefore I did not made the effort to meet them. In high school, I even lied to some people by telling them I was a hacker. Honestly, I did not know how to use Microsoft Windows 3.1 at that point, nevermind illegally accessing remote corporate UNIX systems halfway around the world. It took almost four years before I felt anything close to acceptance -- it was there, but for those years I took it with caution. I never let my guard down, but I started getting tired. That drunken night, though, I felt near immediate acceptance. Though it may not have been genuine, it felt good. I have since eased back into my calculator watch-wearing, solitary life, but at least I had my fifteen minutes of fame that Andy Warhol was so sure everyone would get. I have forgotten my brother's friend's USMC friends' names, but I will not forget their invitation, said in a jocular tone, "if you're not here the next time I'm [on leave], I'll kill ya." Afterall, I am a dork. We do what we're told, pretty much. |
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