Well, at least I’ve made it halfway, right? 🙂
She might be normal… 🙂
What is normal, anyway? Everyone has this twisted idea of what is normal and what is not.
Is normal a mother, father, 2.5 children, a house on a cul-de-sac, and a dog? Fine. There are very few people in this world who are perfectly normal.
I’m perfectly normal for who I am.
I try not to bullshit unless I’m being funny (which happens more unintentionally than not).
I like sunshine and dirt and worms and flowers.
I like rainbows.
I lust after parchement and pencils and crayons and markers; notebooks are a weakness.
If it weren’t for the buggies crawling on me, I’d sleep in the grass like my dogs do. But I’m not a complete hippie. I like showers and clean sheets and laundry and brushing my teeth with store-bought toothpaste, and I like my house, even though there’s a metric fuck-ton of shit in it that I don’t look at.
I like fun clothes and funky jewelry. If I could find my size more often, I’d shop in thrift stores all. the. time.
I dance to my own music. It’s normally a discombobulation of all kinds of tunes.
By the way, you’re perfectly normal for who you are.
And so are the rest of us.