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I sometimes wonder if I should bother replying to something. After all, everyone knows what my feelings on that subject are anyway.
It's like with Goatboy's morons and red tape topic. I read it, and fully agreed with him. He basically said all I wanted to, but I replied anyway just to show I had read it.
Have finally, after, what is it, two years, have I finally become bored with having my say?
Like hell.
For all I've wrote, for all I say, for all I do, and for all I want, I will never stop thinking. And as long as I think, I have the urge to get whatever does enter my head, out of my head, and somehow onto something else.
This year I've started keeping a notepad. I think so much, and have so many ideas, that I forget half of them because I never write them down. Thinking is a spur of the moment thing, and you can never rely on your own mind to remember every last damn visual detail, unfortunatly.
But thinking is a problem for me, a huge problem. Because when people don't communicate to me properly, or I'm reading a book that bores me because the writer is a talentless moron... I drift off into my own thoughts. I used to think it was because I get bored easily. That's true, very true, but why have to settle for uninspiring pap that wasn't written for comfort's sake?
Today, during maths. I take out my books, paper, pen. I really get myself going for a lesson, that I really, REALLY need to do.
And then, for some reason, it's an hour later. The paper is still empty, sans a detail sketch of an eye, and I realised I've done nothing but think for the past hour, which to me has past in seconds. And I can't even tell you what I was thinking about.
One of my earliest memories is from my first school. I was sent down a grade for a day, because I constantly daydreamed. I couldn't concentrate for a second on the maths, or the skills exercises... and I would just sit there and think. First I was moved away from the rest of the class, and told to sit in the corner. When it happened again, I was moved out of the class. I remember crying a bit as I had to go and sit down in the other class, but they were doing this cool thing with using this purple stuff to show up plague in the mouth, which was much more interesting, so I quickly recovered.
At the time, it meant little to me, I think. But now, looking back, I understand more.
But I'm not sure what it is, and I know it isn't just me that suffers from it. I think too much.
And so all the teachers would say in my reports "could be a star pupil if he put his mind to it". But I got A's across the board anyway... at GCSE level. Not boasting, you know my feelings about exams.
And at one case, it really was a case of "you can do it if you put your mind to it", but now, it's more "what do I want to put my mind to?"
No longer do I want to be shoved around, and told what to learn. I've had enough time to think, although averagely I shouldn't, and I will not be told to back down. I refuse to take the life that so many have led, and I refuse to never be known for what I stand for, what I want to achieve, and for what I believe.
But nobody will listen, nobody who could help me an inch listens. You're either human or you aren't, apparently.
And naturally, deep inside me is that horrible little voice that says "you're just like the rest, everyone thinks this way"... but I know that's not true, and a few more of the voices agree with me.
For years I couldn't really see myself as special, I couldn't really see why I was different to the rest, and why they wouldn't let me join in with the games...
*cough*
I'm mad, I know. I can't share drinks with people without throwing a hissy fit, I can't speak properly and I eat slower than Ant types. :0)
I'm as skinny as hell, and every now and again I see things that aren't there, stuff that I still don't want to talk about.
I have amnesia, I say things that I understand clearly, but others have difficulty understanding, and then *I* can't understand why people can't understand what I'm going on about and it all goes around in one big monged table tennis. And I'm scared stiff of eyes, and 80's television adverts. But that's a new topic.
Example of me not being understood, simple as it is. First aid in the sea. You're dragging a casualty to shore, what next?
I say, half thinking: "Call to the woman walking the dog."
And if you understand that, then you understand what my minds really like. It's not hard.
But everyone in the damn room went "ugh?".
"Call to the woman walking the dog, you know, so she can go and get some help."
I had just pictured myself swimming out and dragging this person in, and I looked on the beach for help. The first and only person I saw, was a woman walking a dog.
Even after explaining this, they didn't fully understand.
And that's what gets me all the damn time. I wish, just for once, I didn't have to explain myself. If people could just look at what I do, or what I say, and understand it.
But people are so pathetic, in general. They communicate by speech, and they know no other way. Smiles are myths, winking is a taboo, and anything else is pointless. If words don't have mathematical structures that form sentances that in turn create information, they make no sense. Horrible horrible logical worlds that make me want to run and hide.
We're all emotionless souls trapped in a land where we're forced to ponder over everything we've done wrong so we don't commit suicide too soon.
My nickname is Monkey, and to be fair, it's not used as often as it was. I don't like having a nickname, and I was asked why today.
I replied: "Oh, oh dear. Darren's died... you remember Darren?"
"Who?" I say. I do stuff like this a lot for some reason, it's the thinking again. I really do talk to my brain, you know, I didn't make it up to be funny, it just helps me to think clearly. And yes, he does swear at me for messing up. And I swear back at him and tell him it isn't my fault. In my head, of course. I've got more common sense than you may know. :0)
"You know, Darren. Monkey."
"Oh! Monkey. Monkey's died? Oh dear."
And it was what my friend replied that started me off on this topic.
"You don't think like that all the time, do you?"
My good friend is very much like me. We've both been kinda secluded away for a long time, and we both have the same visual sense of humour. He would understand the woman walking a dog thing straight away, because that's probably what he would have seen too.
I'm lucky to have a friend like that, and I know he thinks as much as I do. He does art, and I love the stuff he does there. Wish I'd taken art, instead of maths.
---------------------
What you've just read is an example of what I think on a daily basis. I post it because it clears my mind. That's why I write topics, and that's why I post. All I'm doing is getting thoughts out of my head so perhaps for a few seconds I can hear my voice echo through my skull when I think.
But it never works. Never. For every time I post, more thoughts come along, and drown me in my great big tub of stuff I really should be doing.
But I can't do anything. I think too much.
There was a time where I wanted to silence the voices. Where they had driven me so far I couldn't cope with it. Nothing will ever come, and nothing will ever be of it. For all I do is think, and I daydream, and I never work to my potential because of it. The voices hound me, and I can't work because of them, I'm a failure.
But my thoughts are there for a reason. Why the hell would I want to silence them?
A quick ease away from them is wonderful... like someone opening my skull and taking my brain for a walk. But I don't want to silence them anymore. I enjoy their company, and I love what they do for me.
"No! Don't write that! Write this!"
I'm insane, but I can cope. I'm mad, but I benefit from it. I finally understand why the thin line lies between geniuses and the insane. It's a term of success, communication, and how well they can live with their constantly mumbling minds.
Am I a genius? Mensa say no. They say I'm borderline, so I've got it easy. Oddly enough though, I found myself daydreaming when I was doing my Mensa test... :0)
So what's left for me? I can't do maths, I can't do logical puzzles for a long time... but I can think. Boy, can I think.
I won't say "I could think all day", because that's what I do. Everything, every little detail is an art, every misplaced angle, and everything that makes no sense logically belongs in my mind, only to be dissected by the brilliant team behind the scenes that you never see.
And as long as I keep thinking, I want to keep creating. Keep those little brain walks going, and a sense of gratitude for finally creating something I need to, instead of dulling my mind with the never ending branches of the money tree.
And suddenly, I've got so much to live for. I've got a lust for life that's come out of nowhere, and when I say nowhere, I mean more than meaning 1).
I truly understand what life is, and it pains me to see so many people trying to convince me otherwise, when they're obviously so very naive for their age.
Age doesn't bring intelligence people, it brings acceptance. The worst word in the English language.
The word for giving up hope, the word that forces us to rest our eyes, and stop fighting for what we truly believe.
But as long as we keep thinking, we'll do fine.
And if you read all that, I'm better than I think. :0)
It's like with Goatboy's morons and red tape topic. I read it, and fully agreed with him. He basically said all I wanted to, but I replied anyway just to show I had read it.
Have finally, after, what is it, two years, have I finally become bored with having my say?
Like hell.
For all I've wrote, for all I say, for all I do, and for all I want, I will never stop thinking. And as long as I think, I have the urge to get whatever does enter my head, out of my head, and somehow onto something else.
This year I've started keeping a notepad. I think so much, and have so many ideas, that I forget half of them because I never write them down. Thinking is a spur of the moment thing, and you can never rely on your own mind to remember every last damn visual detail, unfortunatly.
But thinking is a problem for me, a huge problem. Because when people don't communicate to me properly, or I'm reading a book that bores me because the writer is a talentless moron... I drift off into my own thoughts. I used to think it was because I get bored easily. That's true, very true, but why have to settle for uninspiring pap that wasn't written for comfort's sake?
Today, during maths. I take out my books, paper, pen. I really get myself going for a lesson, that I really, REALLY need to do.
And then, for some reason, it's an hour later. The paper is still empty, sans a detail sketch of an eye, and I realised I've done nothing but think for the past hour, which to me has past in seconds. And I can't even tell you what I was thinking about.
One of my earliest memories is from my first school. I was sent down a grade for a day, because I constantly daydreamed. I couldn't concentrate for a second on the maths, or the skills exercises... and I would just sit there and think. First I was moved away from the rest of the class, and told to sit in the corner. When it happened again, I was moved out of the class. I remember crying a bit as I had to go and sit down in the other class, but they were doing this cool thing with using this purple stuff to show up plague in the mouth, which was much more interesting, so I quickly recovered.
At the time, it meant little to me, I think. But now, looking back, I understand more.
But I'm not sure what it is, and I know it isn't just me that suffers from it. I think too much.
And so all the teachers would say in my reports "could be a star pupil if he put his mind to it". But I got A's across the board anyway... at GCSE level. Not boasting, you know my feelings about exams.
And at one case, it really was a case of "you can do it if you put your mind to it", but now, it's more "what do I want to put my mind to?"
No longer do I want to be shoved around, and told what to learn. I've had enough time to think, although averagely I shouldn't, and I will not be told to back down. I refuse to take the life that so many have led, and I refuse to never be known for what I stand for, what I want to achieve, and for what I believe.
But nobody will listen, nobody who could help me an inch listens. You're either human or you aren't, apparently.
And naturally, deep inside me is that horrible little voice that says "you're just like the rest, everyone thinks this way"... but I know that's not true, and a few more of the voices agree with me.
For years I couldn't really see myself as special, I couldn't really see why I was different to the rest, and why they wouldn't let me join in with the games...
*cough*
I'm mad, I know. I can't share drinks with people without throwing a hissy fit, I can't speak properly and I eat slower than Ant types. :0)
I'm as skinny as hell, and every now and again I see things that aren't there, stuff that I still don't want to talk about.
I have amnesia, I say things that I understand clearly, but others have difficulty understanding, and then *I* can't understand why people can't understand what I'm going on about and it all goes around in one big monged table tennis. And I'm scared stiff of eyes, and 80's television adverts. But that's a new topic.
Example of me not being understood, simple as it is. First aid in the sea. You're dragging a casualty to shore, what next?
I say, half thinking: "Call to the woman walking the dog."
And if you understand that, then you understand what my minds really like. It's not hard.
But everyone in the damn room went "ugh?".
"Call to the woman walking the dog, you know, so she can go and get some help."
I had just pictured myself swimming out and dragging this person in, and I looked on the beach for help. The first and only person I saw, was a woman walking a dog.
Even after explaining this, they didn't fully understand.
And that's what gets me all the damn time. I wish, just for once, I didn't have to explain myself. If people could just look at what I do, or what I say, and understand it.
But people are so pathetic, in general. They communicate by speech, and they know no other way. Smiles are myths, winking is a taboo, and anything else is pointless. If words don't have mathematical structures that form sentances that in turn create information, they make no sense. Horrible horrible logical worlds that make me want to run and hide.
We're all emotionless souls trapped in a land where we're forced to ponder over everything we've done wrong so we don't commit suicide too soon.
My nickname is Monkey, and to be fair, it's not used as often as it was. I don't like having a nickname, and I was asked why today.
I replied: "Oh, oh dear. Darren's died... you remember Darren?"
"Who?" I say. I do stuff like this a lot for some reason, it's the thinking again. I really do talk to my brain, you know, I didn't make it up to be funny, it just helps me to think clearly. And yes, he does swear at me for messing up. And I swear back at him and tell him it isn't my fault. In my head, of course. I've got more common sense than you may know. :0)
"You know, Darren. Monkey."
"Oh! Monkey. Monkey's died? Oh dear."
And it was what my friend replied that started me off on this topic.
"You don't think like that all the time, do you?"
My good friend is very much like me. We've both been kinda secluded away for a long time, and we both have the same visual sense of humour. He would understand the woman walking a dog thing straight away, because that's probably what he would have seen too.
I'm lucky to have a friend like that, and I know he thinks as much as I do. He does art, and I love the stuff he does there. Wish I'd taken art, instead of maths.
---------------------
What you've just read is an example of what I think on a daily basis. I post it because it clears my mind. That's why I write topics, and that's why I post. All I'm doing is getting thoughts out of my head so perhaps for a few seconds I can hear my voice echo through my skull when I think.
But it never works. Never. For every time I post, more thoughts come along, and drown me in my great big tub of stuff I really should be doing.
But I can't do anything. I think too much.
There was a time where I wanted to silence the voices. Where they had driven me so far I couldn't cope with it. Nothing will ever come, and nothing will ever be of it. For all I do is think, and I daydream, and I never work to my potential because of it. The voices hound me, and I can't work because of them, I'm a failure.
But my thoughts are there for a reason. Why the hell would I want to silence them?
A quick ease away from them is wonderful... like someone opening my skull and taking my brain for a walk. But I don't want to silence them anymore. I enjoy their company, and I love what they do for me.
"No! Don't write that! Write this!"
I'm insane, but I can cope. I'm mad, but I benefit from it. I finally understand why the thin line lies between geniuses and the insane. It's a term of success, communication, and how well they can live with their constantly mumbling minds.
Am I a genius? Mensa say no. They say I'm borderline, so I've got it easy. Oddly enough though, I found myself daydreaming when I was doing my Mensa test... :0)
So what's left for me? I can't do maths, I can't do logical puzzles for a long time... but I can think. Boy, can I think.
I won't say "I could think all day", because that's what I do. Everything, every little detail is an art, every misplaced angle, and everything that makes no sense logically belongs in my mind, only to be dissected by the brilliant team behind the scenes that you never see.
And as long as I keep thinking, I want to keep creating. Keep those little brain walks going, and a sense of gratitude for finally creating something I need to, instead of dulling my mind with the never ending branches of the money tree.
And suddenly, I've got so much to live for. I've got a lust for life that's come out of nowhere, and when I say nowhere, I mean more than meaning 1).
I truly understand what life is, and it pains me to see so many people trying to convince me otherwise, when they're obviously so very naive for their age.
Age doesn't bring intelligence people, it brings acceptance. The worst word in the English language.
The word for giving up hope, the word that forces us to rest our eyes, and stop fighting for what we truly believe.
But as long as we keep thinking, we'll do fine.
And if you read all that, I'm better than I think. :0)
Page:
hmm... So many things to say
1) I read it all
2) Interesting post
3)This is why your coursework is going 'slowly'
4) get back to your coursework :o)
5) My Mind has been an empty bowl of nothingness ever since I've come onto this website. A simple thing called 'Designers Block' is plaguing me, mainly in English. I used to be able to have a data bank stored in my memory of fabulous and expressive words, now I only have descriptions. I struggle to write anything half decent yet, I know that I have the potential.
I seriously think I'm slipping in school, I'm not sure if I've been day-dreaming a lot more than I'm supposed to, I'm now having problems with deciding if 'banana' has a double 'n' at one point.
The icing on the cake is seeing RBS being able to write amazing posts with interesting vocabulary, then I found out he's 13, I nearly cried.
Hopefully I shall get over my little dilemma(s).
Errr... anything else left to say?...
Well thats pretty much it
I hope this is the right kind of reply :o)
1) I read it all
2) Interesting post
3)This is why your coursework is going 'slowly'
4) get back to your coursework :o)
5) My Mind has been an empty bowl of nothingness ever since I've come onto this website. A simple thing called 'Designers Block' is plaguing me, mainly in English. I used to be able to have a data bank stored in my memory of fabulous and expressive words, now I only have descriptions. I struggle to write anything half decent yet, I know that I have the potential.
I seriously think I'm slipping in school, I'm not sure if I've been day-dreaming a lot more than I'm supposed to, I'm now having problems with deciding if 'banana' has a double 'n' at one point.
The icing on the cake is seeing RBS being able to write amazing posts with interesting vocabulary, then I found out he's 13, I nearly cried.
Hopefully I shall get over my little dilemma(s).
Errr... anything else left to say?...
Well thats pretty much it
I hope this is the right kind of reply :o)
Crikey.
I have no idea whatsoever on how to reply to this topic. There really is nothing I can say without pretending I understand.
I have no idea whatsoever on how to reply to this topic. There really is nothing I can say without pretending I understand.
I sometimes wonder if I should bother replying to something. After all, everyone knows what my feelings on that subject are anyway.
It's like with Goatboy's morons and red tape topic. I read it, and fully agreed with him. He basically said all I wanted to, but I replied anyway just to show I had read it.
Have finally, after, what is it, two years, have I finally become bored with having my say?
Like hell.
For all I've wrote, for all I say, for all I do, and for all I want, I will never stop thinking. And as long as I think, I have the urge to get whatever does enter my head, out of my head, and somehow onto something else.
This year I've started keeping a notepad. I think so much, and have so many ideas, that I forget half of them because I never write them down. Thinking is a spur of the moment thing, and you can never rely on your own mind to remember every last damn visual detail, unfortunatly.
But thinking is a problem for me, a huge problem. Because when people don't communicate to me properly, or I'm reading a book that bores me because the writer is a talentless moron... I drift off into my own thoughts. I used to think it was because I get bored easily. That's true, very true, but why have to settle for uninspiring pap that wasn't written for comfort's sake?
Today, during maths. I take out my books, paper, pen. I really get myself going for a lesson, that I really, REALLY need to do.
And then, for some reason, it's an hour later. The paper is still empty, sans a detail sketch of an eye, and I realised I've done nothing but think for the past hour, which to me has past in seconds. And I can't even tell you what I was thinking about.
One of my earliest memories is from my first school. I was sent down a grade for a day, because I constantly daydreamed. I couldn't concentrate for a second on the maths, or the skills exercises... and I would just sit there and think. First I was moved away from the rest of the class, and told to sit in the corner. When it happened again, I was moved out of the class. I remember crying a bit as I had to go and sit down in the other class, but they were doing this cool thing with using this purple stuff to show up plague in the mouth, which was much more interesting, so I quickly recovered.
At the time, it meant little to me, I think. But now, looking back, I understand more.
But I'm not sure what it is, and I know it isn't just me that suffers from it. I think too much.
And so all the teachers would say in my reports "could be a star pupil if he put his mind to it". But I got A's across the board anyway... at GCSE level. Not boasting, you know my feelings about exams.
And at one case, it really was a case of "you can do it if you put your mind to it", but now, it's more "what do I want to put my mind to?"
No longer do I want to be shoved around, and told what to learn. I've had enough time to think, although averagely I shouldn't, and I will not be told to back down. I refuse to take the life that so many have led, and I refuse to never be known for what I stand for, what I want to achieve, and for what I believe.
But nobody will listen, nobody who could help me an inch listens. You're either human or you aren't, apparently.
And naturally, deep inside me is that horrible little voice that says "you're just like the rest, everyone thinks this way"... but I know that's not true, and a few more of the voices agree with me.
For years I couldn't really see myself as special, I couldn't really see why I was different to the rest, and why they wouldn't let me join in with the games...
*cough*
I'm mad, I know. I can't share drinks with people without throwing a hissy fit, I can't speak properly and I eat slower than Ant types. :0)
I'm as skinny as hell, and every now and again I see things that aren't there, stuff that I still don't want to talk about.
I have amnesia, I say things that I understand clearly, but others have difficulty understanding, and then *I* can't understand why people can't understand what I'm going on about and it all goes around in one big monged table tennis. And I'm scared stiff of eyes, and 80's television adverts. But that's a new topic.
Example of me not being understood, simple as it is. First aid in the sea. You're dragging a casualty to shore, what next?
I say, half thinking: "Call to the woman walking the dog."
And if you understand that, then you understand what my minds really like. It's not hard.
But everyone in the damn room went "ugh?".
"Call to the woman walking the dog, you know, so she can go and get some help."
I had just pictured myself swimming out and dragging this person in, and I looked on the beach for help. The first and only person I saw, was a woman walking a dog.
Even after explaining this, they didn't fully understand.
And that's what gets me all the damn time. I wish, just for once, I didn't have to explain myself. If people could just look at what I do, or what I say, and understand it.
But people are so pathetic, in general. They communicate by speech, and they know no other way. Smiles are myths, winking is a taboo, and anything else is pointless. If words don't have mathematical structures that form sentances that in turn create information, they make no sense. Horrible horrible logical worlds that make me want to run and hide.
We're all emotionless souls trapped in a land where we're forced to ponder over everything we've done wrong so we don't commit suicide too soon.
My nickname is Monkey, and to be fair, it's not used as often as it was. I don't like having a nickname, and I was asked why today.
I replied: "Oh, oh dear. Darren's died... you remember Darren?"
"Who?" I say. I do stuff like this a lot for some reason, it's the thinking again. I really do talk to my brain, you know, I didn't make it up to be funny, it just helps me to think clearly. And yes, he does swear at me for messing up. And I swear back at him and tell him it isn't my fault. In my head, of course. I've got more common sense than you may know. :0)
"You know, Darren. Monkey."
"Oh! Monkey. Monkey's died? Oh dear."
And it was what my friend replied that started me off on this topic.
"You don't think like that all the time, do you?"
My good friend is very much like me. We've both been kinda secluded away for a long time, and we both have the same visual sense of humour. He would understand the woman walking a dog thing straight away, because that's probably what he would have seen too.
I'm lucky to have a friend like that, and I know he thinks as much as I do. He does art, and I love the stuff he does there. Wish I'd taken art, instead of maths.
---------------------
What you've just read is an example of what I think on a daily basis. I post it because it clears my mind. That's why I write topics, and that's why I post. All I'm doing is getting thoughts out of my head so perhaps for a few seconds I can hear my voice echo through my skull when I think.
But it never works. Never. For every time I post, more thoughts come along, and drown me in my great big tub of stuff I really should be doing.
But I can't do anything. I think too much.
There was a time where I wanted to silence the voices. Where they had driven me so far I couldn't cope with it. Nothing will ever come, and nothing will ever be of it. For all I do is think, and I daydream, and I never work to my potential because of it. The voices hound me, and I can't work because of them, I'm a failure.
But my thoughts are there for a reason. Why the hell would I want to silence them?
A quick ease away from them is wonderful... like someone opening my skull and taking my brain for a walk. But I don't want to silence them anymore. I enjoy their company, and I love what they do for me.
"No! Don't write that! Write this!"
I'm insane, but I can cope. I'm mad, but I benefit from it. I finally understand why the thin line lies between geniuses and the insane. It's a term of success, communication, and how well they can live with their constantly mumbling minds.
Am I a genius? Mensa say no. They say I'm borderline, so I've got it easy. Oddly enough though, I found myself daydreaming when I was doing my Mensa test... :0)
So what's left for me? I can't do maths, I can't do logical puzzles for a long time... but I can think. Boy, can I think.
I won't say "I could think all day", because that's what I do. Everything, every little detail is an art, every misplaced angle, and everything that makes no sense logically belongs in my mind, only to be dissected by the brilliant team behind the scenes that you never see.
And as long as I keep thinking, I want to keep creating. Keep those little brain walks going, and a sense of gratitude for finally creating something I need to, instead of dulling my mind with the never ending branches of the money tree.
And suddenly, I've got so much to live for. I've got a lust for life that's come out of nowhere, and when I say nowhere, I mean more than meaning 1).
I truly understand what life is, and it pains me to see so many people trying to convince me otherwise, when they're obviously so very naive for their age.
Age doesn't bring intelligence people, it brings acceptance. The worst word in the English language.
The word for giving up hope, the word that forces us to rest our eyes, and stop fighting for what we truly believe.
But as long as we keep thinking, we'll do fine.
And if you read all that, I'm better than I think. :0)
It's like with Goatboy's morons and red tape topic. I read it, and fully agreed with him. He basically said all I wanted to, but I replied anyway just to show I had read it.
Have finally, after, what is it, two years, have I finally become bored with having my say?
Like hell.
For all I've wrote, for all I say, for all I do, and for all I want, I will never stop thinking. And as long as I think, I have the urge to get whatever does enter my head, out of my head, and somehow onto something else.
This year I've started keeping a notepad. I think so much, and have so many ideas, that I forget half of them because I never write them down. Thinking is a spur of the moment thing, and you can never rely on your own mind to remember every last damn visual detail, unfortunatly.
But thinking is a problem for me, a huge problem. Because when people don't communicate to me properly, or I'm reading a book that bores me because the writer is a talentless moron... I drift off into my own thoughts. I used to think it was because I get bored easily. That's true, very true, but why have to settle for uninspiring pap that wasn't written for comfort's sake?
Today, during maths. I take out my books, paper, pen. I really get myself going for a lesson, that I really, REALLY need to do.
And then, for some reason, it's an hour later. The paper is still empty, sans a detail sketch of an eye, and I realised I've done nothing but think for the past hour, which to me has past in seconds. And I can't even tell you what I was thinking about.
One of my earliest memories is from my first school. I was sent down a grade for a day, because I constantly daydreamed. I couldn't concentrate for a second on the maths, or the skills exercises... and I would just sit there and think. First I was moved away from the rest of the class, and told to sit in the corner. When it happened again, I was moved out of the class. I remember crying a bit as I had to go and sit down in the other class, but they were doing this cool thing with using this purple stuff to show up plague in the mouth, which was much more interesting, so I quickly recovered.
At the time, it meant little to me, I think. But now, looking back, I understand more.
But I'm not sure what it is, and I know it isn't just me that suffers from it. I think too much.
And so all the teachers would say in my reports "could be a star pupil if he put his mind to it". But I got A's across the board anyway... at GCSE level. Not boasting, you know my feelings about exams.
And at one case, it really was a case of "you can do it if you put your mind to it", but now, it's more "what do I want to put my mind to?"
No longer do I want to be shoved around, and told what to learn. I've had enough time to think, although averagely I shouldn't, and I will not be told to back down. I refuse to take the life that so many have led, and I refuse to never be known for what I stand for, what I want to achieve, and for what I believe.
But nobody will listen, nobody who could help me an inch listens. You're either human or you aren't, apparently.
And naturally, deep inside me is that horrible little voice that says "you're just like the rest, everyone thinks this way"... but I know that's not true, and a few more of the voices agree with me.
For years I couldn't really see myself as special, I couldn't really see why I was different to the rest, and why they wouldn't let me join in with the games...
*cough*
I'm mad, I know. I can't share drinks with people without throwing a hissy fit, I can't speak properly and I eat slower than Ant types. :0)
I'm as skinny as hell, and every now and again I see things that aren't there, stuff that I still don't want to talk about.
I have amnesia, I say things that I understand clearly, but others have difficulty understanding, and then *I* can't understand why people can't understand what I'm going on about and it all goes around in one big monged table tennis. And I'm scared stiff of eyes, and 80's television adverts. But that's a new topic.
Example of me not being understood, simple as it is. First aid in the sea. You're dragging a casualty to shore, what next?
I say, half thinking: "Call to the woman walking the dog."
And if you understand that, then you understand what my minds really like. It's not hard.
But everyone in the damn room went "ugh?".
"Call to the woman walking the dog, you know, so she can go and get some help."
I had just pictured myself swimming out and dragging this person in, and I looked on the beach for help. The first and only person I saw, was a woman walking a dog.
Even after explaining this, they didn't fully understand.
And that's what gets me all the damn time. I wish, just for once, I didn't have to explain myself. If people could just look at what I do, or what I say, and understand it.
But people are so pathetic, in general. They communicate by speech, and they know no other way. Smiles are myths, winking is a taboo, and anything else is pointless. If words don't have mathematical structures that form sentances that in turn create information, they make no sense. Horrible horrible logical worlds that make me want to run and hide.
We're all emotionless souls trapped in a land where we're forced to ponder over everything we've done wrong so we don't commit suicide too soon.
My nickname is Monkey, and to be fair, it's not used as often as it was. I don't like having a nickname, and I was asked why today.
I replied: "Oh, oh dear. Darren's died... you remember Darren?"
"Who?" I say. I do stuff like this a lot for some reason, it's the thinking again. I really do talk to my brain, you know, I didn't make it up to be funny, it just helps me to think clearly. And yes, he does swear at me for messing up. And I swear back at him and tell him it isn't my fault. In my head, of course. I've got more common sense than you may know. :0)
"You know, Darren. Monkey."
"Oh! Monkey. Monkey's died? Oh dear."
And it was what my friend replied that started me off on this topic.
"You don't think like that all the time, do you?"
My good friend is very much like me. We've both been kinda secluded away for a long time, and we both have the same visual sense of humour. He would understand the woman walking a dog thing straight away, because that's probably what he would have seen too.
I'm lucky to have a friend like that, and I know he thinks as much as I do. He does art, and I love the stuff he does there. Wish I'd taken art, instead of maths.
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What you've just read is an example of what I think on a daily basis. I post it because it clears my mind. That's why I write topics, and that's why I post. All I'm doing is getting thoughts out of my head so perhaps for a few seconds I can hear my voice echo through my skull when I think.
But it never works. Never. For every time I post, more thoughts come along, and drown me in my great big tub of stuff I really should be doing.
But I can't do anything. I think too much.
There was a time where I wanted to silence the voices. Where they had driven me so far I couldn't cope with it. Nothing will ever come, and nothing will ever be of it. For all I do is think, and I daydream, and I never work to my potential because of it. The voices hound me, and I can't work because of them, I'm a failure.
But my thoughts are there for a reason. Why the hell would I want to silence them?
A quick ease away from them is wonderful... like someone opening my skull and taking my brain for a walk. But I don't want to silence them anymore. I enjoy their company, and I love what they do for me.
"No! Don't write that! Write this!"
I'm insane, but I can cope. I'm mad, but I benefit from it. I finally understand why the thin line lies between geniuses and the insane. It's a term of success, communication, and how well they can live with their constantly mumbling minds.
Am I a genius? Mensa say no. They say I'm borderline, so I've got it easy. Oddly enough though, I found myself daydreaming when I was doing my Mensa test... :0)
So what's left for me? I can't do maths, I can't do logical puzzles for a long time... but I can think. Boy, can I think.
I won't say "I could think all day", because that's what I do. Everything, every little detail is an art, every misplaced angle, and everything that makes no sense logically belongs in my mind, only to be dissected by the brilliant team behind the scenes that you never see.
And as long as I keep thinking, I want to keep creating. Keep those little brain walks going, and a sense of gratitude for finally creating something I need to, instead of dulling my mind with the never ending branches of the money tree.
And suddenly, I've got so much to live for. I've got a lust for life that's come out of nowhere, and when I say nowhere, I mean more than meaning 1).
I truly understand what life is, and it pains me to see so many people trying to convince me otherwise, when they're obviously so very naive for their age.
Age doesn't bring intelligence people, it brings acceptance. The worst word in the English language.
The word for giving up hope, the word that forces us to rest our eyes, and stop fighting for what we truly believe.
But as long as we keep thinking, we'll do fine.
And if you read all that, I'm better than I think. :0)
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