Inadequacy, or the feeling that you are (inadequate, that is) is normal (I hope?). Having too many perfect people surrounding your imperfection seems like a cruel joke to make them look even better in comparison. And my whole day has been that sort of day.
"It seems like my whole life is that sort of life," the creepy girl in the corner huskily whispered, wearing too much eyeliner and a black hoodie three sizes too big. (Hood up, of course.)
"I prefer to call it a 'kangaroo jacket', actually, and it makes an artistic statement about the meaninglessness of life and work!"
Oh, yeah? Like what?
She shoots me a sardonic look from underneath her hooded eyelids, enunciating as if I'm the mad, bizarre one who broke into someone else's house to make odd comments in the corner. "That black is a color! Not a shade! A color! Take that, society."
What a statement. How did she even get in here? I need to stop leaving the cat flap open. But we don't have a cat. Or a cat flap.
*shoots wary glance to corner and scoots away slowly*
Anyway, I was saying before Miss Clothing from Australia over there interrupted me-
"It's not Australian," she calls over to me, looking bored as she tries reading my dictionary.
You said 'kangaroo'-
"Oh, and you just assume it was Australia?" bursts out my unwelcome visitor, the shine of triumphant conquer shining upon what little I can see of her face. "I just say 'kangaroo' and Little Miss Inadequacy Issues over here decides that 'Oh, kangaroos, things can be from Australia, I'm a geographically-challenged dork, blah de blah de blah!" She leans back into the wall, satisfied.
Okay, then. Where is your precious jacket with its misleading name come from, huh?
She slouches again, borrowing into her hoodie. "I don't know."
Ha. Google saved me. CANADA.
"I can be Canadian. If I want to," scoffs the girl in the corner. "You know, this is a really good book."
That's the, um, dictionary. What did you say your name was again?
"I didn't," she grins in a sinister manner.
That cleared things up. And don't be so sinister. Sinister people don't read the dictionary.
"But it's really good," she raved, in a rare display of emotion.
It seems I need to call pest control for this half-wit.
"You have self-esteem problems. And you're too slumpy."
Are you really in a position to be insulting anyone right now? You're a weirdo that I don't even know who is occupying a whole corner of my room, you're not Canadian and you call your hoodie a kangaroo jacket! You're reading the dictionary!
"You've read part of the dictionary before!" she remarked, injured.
That was four years ago, when I thought I was cool because I- wait a second, how do you know that?
"Lucky guess?" she replied sheepishly.
On that invasive and disturbing note, I will end this conversational blog post. We will recommence tomorrow, when we might fight out Miss Annoying 2011's problem. Or we might be led in meaningless circles again.
"Meaningless circles, for sure," mutters the odd one, putting on a garish shade of orange lipstick. "That's good, right?"
No comment, ha ha ha. Yes comment. You look like you put ketchup on a coral reef and ate it.
"I can still hear you, even if you mumble it sarcastically to yourself!"
Drat.
Quote for Thursday, April 7, 2011:
An original idea. That can't be too hard. The library must be full of them.
-The Liar (1991)
Muse for a Day:
I have no idea what I was going to write about before the creepy girl in the corner. And it's BEDA for a week so far!
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