People have always told me I should write. I had an English Professor who told me it was my calling. I thought he was mistaken. Clearly, I am a scientist. Still, I have had repeated requests from friends to write a book about my life and about my personal philosophies. I didn’t know what to write about. I still don’t. My life really isn’t that interesting. I really am boring. I have always seen myself as the definition of normal. I’ve lived with myself my whole life, and well, I kind of make sense to me. I should submit a picture of myself to Wikipedia and post it under Normal. Recently, I have found that either I am mistaken, or the rest of the world in inhabited by a drone of abnormal freaks. Have you ever wondered how others see you? I know what I think I look like. I know what I think I project to the world. Recently, I have discovered that maybe I see myself much differently than anyone else sees me.
I am of average height and am of average attractiveness. I always felt like an ugly duckling as a child, but that is really a symptom of having three drop dead gorgeous sisters and a total MILF of a mother. To make myself feel better, I tell myself that everyone goes through a geeky stage; mine has just lasted my whole life. I have grey-blue eyes that catch everyone’s attention now that I am an adult. As a kid, I wore ridiculously large glasses (which along with my fro of a perm never gave me a chance to even attempt to be cool), but since, I have gotten LASIK surgery. After my surgery, my section sergeant in the army told me that he had never even known that I had blue eyes. I have small ears, a small nose, and full lips. My hair is ridiculously crazy and has been cut above the shoulders my entire life. My mother told me as a child that if I couldn’t learn to brush my hair, then I wasn’t allowed to have any. I still haven’t learned to brush it. My hair color changes every month, but everyone says I am a redhead. I don’t correct them. I am actually blonde. I dye my eyebrows, because naturally they are quite transparent. I have a very large head, hands, and feet. My twin sister is the opposite; she has a pin head and itty bitty hands and feet. You don’t have to distort my image at all to make me look like a bobble headed clown. I have a ridiculously short inseam which I totally obsess over (ask my brother…it drives him nuts). My wiener dog, Sasquatch, and I have the same proportions. I avoid looking at pictures, because I don’t really mind being in denial about what I look like. I can pretend that I am in awesome shape rather than facing the actuality that I have about fifty pounds to lose. I am terribly un-photogenic anyway. My mother attributes my horrible photos to not being able to see my personality in the photo. I am glad I have a good personality, because if I didn’t, I would be in serious trouble.
My friend recently wrote online about his daughter and her interesting encounter with a cockroach. My friend had killed a cockroach and thrown it in the toilet, but apparently, forgot to flush. His young daughter later came out of the bathroom crying and quite distressed. She exclaimed to all that she had “pooped a bug”. I want to see more than just what is in the toilet. Since I returned from my tour in Iraq, I have somehow gotten lost in a small part of my world and I have been unable to discern what is real and what isn’t. My goal with this “project” is to step back and find out which of my turds are mine and which turds are really not my doing.