For the majority of the time, my weirdness stays within the confines of my mind, not to be witnessed by the world around me. My job and my lifestyle demand this, and for the most part, I am content to leave things that way. But there are a few channels in which that weirdness leaves my body, and I treasure these.

My hands write the weirdness in sloppy handwriting on random sheets of note paper I pull out of my desk, or type jumbled, confusing sentences into word processors that only make sense to me. These stay stashed away for the most part.

Every once in a while, a bit of weirdness comes free and is overheard or seen by another "weird insider". This is followed by a hurricane of weirdness and usually settles down into a friendship.

No matter how many opportunities my environment gives me to be weird, no matter who's around to see it or how often I choose to let it go, I will always be weird on the inside.

Now, pardon me while I go dance with my duck and my monkey and hope that it rains sardines.

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