Alone, Forever

I don't often think comforting thoughts when alone. So very alone. However, in an oddly comforting realization, I came to the conclusion that one cannot truly be devoid of company when one is in the presence… of oneself of course. I have separated my body, which functions as a representation of my lonely self, and my mind, a figment of the brain, and therefore the body. We have such fun, myself and I. Although, I can't help but notice that talking to myself has become a more frequent activity, perpetuating my solitude.

 …and also my stay in this mental institution.

Also, this is just a tidbit you might find interesting (or not), but this happens to be my 156th post. A number that holds a lot of meaning to me, as the fastest serve ever recorded in professional tennis in mph. Ahem...that is all.

Showered with ideas

"I've been feeling really exposed lately…"

Oh no! Why?

"you know, in the shower…"

(Exposed… in the shower. Uh huh.)

"But I've thought of this wonderful solution…"

(Probably while in the shower.)

"while in the shower. Listen to this."

(If only I didn't have to.)

"Imagine a piece of clothing you could wear, that absorbs water while you shower. What do you think?"

I think you just invented the swimsuit. With all due respect, you're a moron.

"Well! Maybe you should learn to respect genius when you hear it! See if I ever talk to you again!

I feel exposed...

Waiting for the Speedwagon

He had battled sleep for too long, but he was determined to fight this drowsy feeling for a while longer. Melting behind the bus stop glass, he was practically a candle in the window of a warm, bright, summer's day. He nodded off, only to meet the stimulant of a solid wall. He knew that the bus would likely win this battle, and he had forgotten what he had started waiting for. Even as he wandered, he had lost sight of his dream. The bus arrived, as buses sometimes do, and he went farther than he ever thought he might.

Expertinent

The world let out a collective groan when poor Eric decided that his goal in life was to be an expert. His decision, rash though it seemed, spurred Eric to greatness in a field no one had ever heard of before. After hours and hours of field research in the Amazon rainforest WIkipedia page, he nearly gave up. Yet, through the very action of advancing knowledge further than anyone had ever dared to advance, he guaranteed himself remembrance in the hallowed archives of "Bee Mine Magazine" And so the world breathed a collective sigh as he retired in relative obscurity.

Back to the 100 word routine at last

There will come a time in everyone's life when they must be tested. There are a great many tests, spanning a variety of pointless subjects, from math to spelling to the proper care of cephalopods, but none of these tests are as universal as the one I am speaking of. Once you have taken this test, all future tests will be rendered ineffective, and you will understand why. The test is simple, consisting of but one phrase, the response to which will forever determine your standing in this world. The test is this: "Look! There's gullible written on the ceiling!"

A Scarred Existence

I know I promised a longer piece of writing to break my hiatus, but I have realized that after writing just one page of it (tentatively titled “Wanted Undead or Alive: or The Spelling Zombie”) I'll need a bit more time to complete it. So in penance, I’ll tell you an embarrassing tale from my childhood. I forget my exact age in this case, such is the curse of childhood amnesia, but never will I forget the mental trauma incurred on that fateful day.

As with most Scotts, I have been subjected to extreme, and in some cases excessive, normalcy. My first name, and indeed all three of my names, strike fear in the hearts of very few, if any at all. I can’t say how many times I have knocked into someone, quickly stuttering an apology, and then realizing that I had inconvenienced a trash can, an object which no doubt did not appreciate or even care for my politeness. Stupid trashcans.

Anywho, by the time I had reached the second or third year of my elementary education, I decided that I need an image change. Scott, so plain, forever destined to like vanilla ice cream and enjoy the company of drying paint. I cast aside my old identity with a wave of my hand, a hand that waved directly into the dining table’s sharp corner. Undeterred, I looked at the small cut I had received, and my new name was born.

“Scott?” my teacher had called the next day. I went obediently up to her desk, er...I mean, badassly up to her desk. “Ahem, I couldn’t help but notice that while you received a perfect score on your spelling test, you put your name down as Scar.” I smiled. My plan was working perfectly. The teacher, who determined the fates of all her charges, had recognized my new name, and soon all the wood chips in the playground would tremble at the mere whisper of my new identity.

“Scott? Are you listening? Please stop using that name, I’ve seen it on your other papers. If you continue, I’ll have to mention this to your parents.”

And so my dream, my fantasies of a life of adventure and proper first aid were crushed. Thus concludes my embarrassing memory, and I hope you will be blushing so furiously as to remember my cautionary tale. Think of my warning not from Scott, your lovable blogger, no. Always be yourself, says Scar. Be yourself, or else.