To be called melancholic.

I think some days I could be. People ask you if you are alright and the first thing that pops into my head is no, but I say yes. Because I don't want to have to talk with that person. For the most part I'm fine, just some days. I'm like a broken record with that. Some days. Some days I'm fine and some days I'm not. I guess it's just me. I should be doing my drama. But I feel like writing this so I do. That and I really don't feel like picking apart my performance right now. It makes sense to test our competency in the understanding of what we do why we do it. But right now I just feel like rolling over and watching my hand slowly clench and unclench. Another weird habit that I've picked up and will probably drop in a few weeks. It's nearly always the right hand because that's the abnormal hand, the one with the slight deformation. The hand that seems like me, regular but there's something odd about it, something glaringly obvious once you look at it, but innocuous to the casual observer.

I've realized that when you look at yourself you can't always see what people see in you. But at the same token I don't want to live my life making other people happy, at least not all of the time. I don't want to be a footnote in someone else's happiness. As Fall Out Boy put it. I want to have my own and be heavy involved in others. If memory serves then I've used that lyric before. And if I haven't then I'm wondering why I haven't used it before. My unusual memory, I can't remember a deadline or a classroom change but I can remember that my brother and me used to pretend we were monkeys and climb trees, we ate leaves once and they didn't taste like anything. I also remember throw away comments. Such as "Jordan's so rough, he's like full on in the face wham." quote from Tamara there. And it pains people that I remember these things some time. I also get things which I have labeled memory strikes. Where a previously unremarkable memory comes to the front of your head. Such as now. The multi-people Skype call we had were people dropped in and out all the time. And Rachel was unhappy because I'd forgot to mention I was moving soon. Why now though? Why remember now?

Congratulations random memory. I dedicate this to you. Whatever it is. I don't think it's a poem and it's most likely not a song. Just label it prose and be done with it.

"I am the black cat, unhindered in night and spurned in the day. Those who do not despise me are despised themselves. I am the black cat, best left alone in the night. 


I am the white cat, who shines in the night and is welcomed in the day. Those who despise me are despised themselves. I am the white cat, not content to be left in the night.


I am the grey cat, who walks the fine line twixt dark and light. Despised by some yet welcomed by others. I am the grey cat, who does not belong.


I am the cat, who does not know where he should walk. The cat who cannot see what color I am and sometimes does not wish to know. I am the cat who wants to belong.


I am the tom cat. Who needs none and none need him. Despised by all and loved by only myself. I am the cat who will never belong."