When I was young, I would speak in the second person.  I assumed I was “you” and everyone else was “me, I,” and sometimes “us.”

I would say to my mother, “You want me to pick you up now.”

And she’d proceed to pick me up.

She had too much of a sense of humor to let me know who I was in the pronoun department.

This gave me a strange introduction to the concept of otherness.

 

When I was young, I used to ask policemen what pennies were made of.

The cops would usually reply, “Copper.”

“DIRTY COPPER!” I yelled.

And then I’d run.

This gave me a strange introduction to the concept of humor.

 

Sometimes I write journal entries ahead of time, for insurance of a happy and balanced day.

This could be cause for some speculation, it would seem.  But it works.

 

I put the milk in before the cereal.

This could be cause for some speculation, it would seem.  But it keeps the cereal dry longer.

 

I been known to make little rules for myself, little restrictions, but to avoid being an anal retentive, highly structured, less than spontaneous human being, I have created these rules and henceforth followed my American forefathers by creating exceptions to all of these rules.  I still feel young and spontaneous, no matter what you say.

 

I believe that no matter how old you are, it is appropriate to feel old when watching your favourite childhood shows on Nick at Nite.  I might sound crazy, but I can tell you there’s something wrong with putting Fresh Prince of Bel Air on Nick at Nite.

 

Sometimes, I rip the calendar pages, so nothing will happen that month.

 

Sometimes, I combat my loneliness with mild cases of schizophrenic episodes and imaginary friends.

 

Sometimes, I walk around with a guitar strapped to my back, and when I’m asked to play, I simply say, “Wish I could, but I don’t know how.”

 

Sometimes, I write poetry, because poetry give me a reciprocal vulnerability with every word in the English (and sometimes French or Spanish) language.