I have no idea what I’m doing half the time. Other times I know I’m doing it wrong, but maybe somehow it will still work out. I can’t remember most of the things I say, and I don’t even say much. I don’t understand how things work, but that’s ok because I can’t tell when they don’t. Subplots are confusing. Diarrhea is random. I can’t tell if déjà vu is real or imagined.
A dream is only a dream if the picture gets all wavy with the appropriate sound effects. All meat tastes like chicken, except for chicken wings. I’m hungry but I don’t know what to eat. It’s funny but I have no idea why. I keep skipping Q and R when I sing the alphabet song, but I add in extra pauses to make it sound right. Green looks like blue, red looks like brown, and grey looks like black. Fuzzy socks are warm mittens.
I throw with my left hand, write with my right, serve a volleyball with my left, serve a tennis ball with my right, jump with my left foot, kick with my right, and juggle oranges while bouncing a soccer ball on my head. I like to test my sixth sense by driving without directions, which I would only screw up anyways. What did I do over the weekend you ask? Nothing. No wait, something. Is today Monday?
I have cauliflower-broccoli dyslexia. I’m amazing at Wheel of Fortune, and suck at Jeopardy. Velcro shoes always end up on the wrong feet. It’s because when the straps are undone, they point in the wrong direction. If the daycare changes my baby’s clothes, I might just pick up the wrong kid. I used to get emotionally attached to my snowman when I was a kid, and balled my eyes out every spring when he melted.
The Sun makes me sneeze. I can pick my nose with my tongue (but I don’t). If it’s not in front of me, I can’t imagine it. If I can imagine it, it doesn’t exist. I can do things really precisely, but I prefer to go by feel. I can’t read more than one page at a time, if that. Unless I can, in which case I can read a lot more. And yes, I really can catch flies with my bare hands.
I’m sure there’s more. There always is.