the other kids

By | August 30, 2005

quirky
adjective
unusual in an attractive and interesting way

A few years ago, a co-worker called me quirky and I spent three days obsessing about it. I took it to mean that she thought I was weird. And that bugged me since this was work and I’m a serious professional and very good at my job. (Plus, it kinda hurt my feelings.)

Okay — so, I’m a serious professional, that’s all settled now — but I’m also a quirky nutcase.

It took a while but I’m fine with this.

It’s okay, honest. I can take it.

No hurt feelings. I am a rock.

Until it hit me again today that I’m just not like all the other kids.

I talk to myself in my office. (Is this really that odd? Other people don’t talk to themselves about what they’re doing as they’re doing it?)

I don’t think about it or notice it when I’m in the midst of it but I do realize that I’m doing it if it’s pointed out to me.

I guess I can’t believe it’s loud enough for other people to hear … it always seems like it’s more in my head than anything else.

But my internal monologue is actually external.

It’s too late now. I could close my door from now on but they will still know what’s going on in there. Plus, I like to keep the door open for speedy escapes.

At least I’m not arguing with myself. I save that for my journey home.

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