Driving home today I decided that I have the potential to be a famous writer....poet...no a famous author! Or, maybe, that I am destined to be a famous author, whether in this lifetime or after I am dead. A snobby Van Gogh, one who predicted his placement in Target and Wal-Mart frame sales....and how pretentious would he seem, if Van Gogh had predicted his fame. If he knew he would be hanging in some dorm room or worse yet, in a first-time apt. owners living room on cardboard with the plastic still on and no frame....would he really be stuck up? Would he be proud? Going off track...
My reasoning behind it is rather magnificent...and would you expect anything less from a self-proclaimed (for decades to come), soon-to-be famous author? Reason being....my face twitches. I mean, I have strange, uncontrollable facial twitches..."quirks," someone who is attempting to humor me might call them..."quirks"...but they are clearly twitches, rather absurd and embarrassing twitches that I have slowly come to fall in love with after basing my fate on them. Some in the forehead, others in the nose, crunching and cringing them....wiggling my ears, unable to relax my face. The muscles just won't stop...and for these reasons you will see my countless memoriams (First to read: To Rick- for making me stay in Ormskirk) published by Penguin books....or maybe it will be Vintage Publishing....we'll see who gets wind first and offers me the most money. But there I will be...the first dead writer to assume public acclaim from beyond the grave.
These are no ordinary twitches mind you...these are the kind of twitches that only visionaries have...ones that other people gawk at and wonder why they are there. Twitches...habitual twitches that scream addiction and abnormal behavior, as a good writer should. I even make excuses for them...to myself obviously, no one ever asks about them for fear of social discomfort. When I wiggle my nose, I tell myself it's because of a hard buildup inside, some stubborn boogey clutching to my nose hairs...that I have an itch, a drip of sweat, anything. But I have done it for years. Ever since I can remember, I have had this uncomfortable nose twitch. This, paired with social anxiety (enough to make my dog blush), roseacea and a substantial lack of short-term memory, I would say I am one world renowned book short of bi-weekly therapy sessions...
The rosy cheeks, (doctors and makeup specialists like to call it rosacea), they have always been a great way to make everyone around me uncomfortable too. It doesn't even have to be in public or at a podium, I can be in the car, alone, belting out lyrics to an incredible song....stumble on the chorus and my face turns as red as your pants (If you're wearing bright red pants, you know what I mean, if you aren't, shame on me for banking on your good fashion sense)....Poetic huh? You thought I would go with fire engine....or rosebud...but not me....I already told you, I'm destined!
Not just the upper cheek bones either, this is red to the brim...past the hairline. Red ears, red arms, red all over indisguisable!! It's quite an intense feeling, one that I can't imagine living without...but oh how wonderful it would be...to have the simple confidence that would allow my skin to maintain a milky white hue when I tell a simple joke....or even just speak after a long silence.
It has taken me too long to realize just how amazing I can be. I will immediately pick up smoking and other bad habits to ensure my success....
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