It smells like crayons in my room. :D I love that smell; I wonder where it's coming from? I don't have any crayons with me, though I wish I did (coloring is one of my favorite things to do).

My stepmother constantly dismisses all of the things I love the most as either "too weird" or "too childish."

Coloring, Jim Henson movies, David Bowie, the Who in general, Living Dead Dolls, the Beatles, backpacking, actually desiring to use my legs for something other than pressing a gas pedal (I shit you not--this woman mocks me for wanting to exercise sometimes), reading books instead of fashion/gossip magazines...

Perhaps I am childish or extremely eccentric. Who the fuck cares? What business is it of anybody else's what I do, what I say, who I fuck, what I watch, and what I enjoy, as long as I don't hurt anybody else? It's nobody's business, that's who. Unless I decide to share it with someone else. And that's my decision. I'm not an overgrown gap-toothed Family Circus kid. I act... well, not exactly MATURE (I still laugh all the way to tears at Beavis and Butthead or Ren and Stimpy) but not exactly IMMATURE either (I enjoy reading classic Greek literature and studying comparative religions in my spare time). Perhaps I'm not exactly "normal" in HER sense of the word, but I enjoy my life. I like the way I am, which is sadly a rarity these days. I like the way I look (though, really, I could do with these zits vanishing from my neck), I think I act like a decent person, and I try not to bother anybody. I honestly don't see what the big deal is.

Also: I'm completely obsessed with "Going Mobile" now. @___@ I've adopted it as my personal hitchhiking/backpacking/out-on-the-road-in-general song. *loves*