Tag: weird

The Strangest Dream

Some mornings I can’t seem to wake up. I’m out of bed, I’m upright, I’m typing, but I am not awake. There’s a cup of strong coffee next to me, but I am not awake.

Photo by Luis Quintero on Pexels.com

I woke up at 4 AM from an annoying dream in which my mother (a compulsive clothes shopper) left me a truckload of clothes that were 1) in the wrong size, and 2) profoundly ugly. Instead of taking them to my home, my sister brought them, racks and racks full, to a shopping mall and I was left to gather them all. And my sister started yelling at me because I had misplaced a supposedly valuable hot pink wool suit. I was trying to get it back from the store clerk who found it. At least I saved the glow-in-the-dark suit. There were at least 20 pale pink cotton shirts and matching polka-dot pants. I decided I needed to lose weight to fit into all these clothes I didn’t even like. An old friend walked by and held up a stretchy skirt saying I could never lose enough weight to wear it. I bet her I could wear it right now and put it on over a long black matronly skirt. A sales clerk from another store tried to persuade me that these clothes were, in fact, breathtakingly ugly. I got mad at him because I knew he was just trying to sell me more clothes.

I’m awake now and wondering what the heck that dream meant.

Day 2 Camp NaNo — and reflections on fame and weirdne.

Today, on the second day of Camp NaNo, here are the searches I performed (which is why I only wrote abut 1000 words in two hours):
Japanese girl’s names
Krakow to Gdansk train schedule
Translate to Polish: “How dare you molest that young man”

I might have missed a couple.

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I don’t ever want to be famous. As an American, this statement is almost sacrilege. I want to be competent at what I do. I want people to read my message. But I do not want to be famous. This is why:

Fame costs too much.

What do I mean by that? I mean that I am what one might call neurodiverse. What that means is that my brain does not see the world the way other people’s do. People termed neurodiverse include 1) people on the autism spectrum, 2) people with mental health disorders, and 3) people with cognitive differences. (My classmates in school believed me to be 1) and 3); my doctor has diagnosed me as 2) ).

People who are neurodiverse are often termed “weird”. I have been termed “weird”, although nowadays that’s tempered by “intelligent”. This is what people call “weird”: even with medicine, I come off as exuberant and a little mystical. I dream books. I talk to dragonflies. I fall in love all the time but ask nothing of it. I want to learn your stories, all of you. I love everyone. Everything positive, nerdy, inspiring amuses me.

Sometimes, even with my medication, I can get depressed. I can think I’m the most unworthy person in the world and want to disappear, and nothing anyone says will change that.

Fame costs too much. Why?

Hiding who I am to look “normal” costs me. It wraps me in a bundle of “not-okayness”. Can you imagine my exuberance peeking through in an administration job, or a corporate job?  I already get looked at askance when I giggle in a Faculty Senate meeting because I’m enchanted with a new project. I would promise more than I could deliver in a layoff because I would hurt for those people. I would not lose weight to have a professional photo taken, and I would not try to look my age. I would want to have that picture taken with one of my cats. I would fight tooth and nail to stay approachable. I would talk to the dragonfly in your presence and explain why I had.

People can look at neurodiverse me and say, “Wow, she’s a little out there.” (This has happened). They can call me the R-word (this has happened). They can say, “If she became a professor, so can I” (I hope they’ve said this). They can say, “She’s weird in a good sort of way” (on a course evaluation, honestly).

They can say, “She’s like me, so I don’t have to be a corporate or fashion or administrative drone”. This is true, but you may have to give up fame to accept your humanity.