My Mother Could Very Well Have Been On LSD When She Had Me

I shall smirk throughout the duration of this entry. Perhaps a slight chuckle shall grace our presence.

Sitting in the darkness of my room, fighting off the heaviness of Sleep, I ponder (as usual) upon the many things that have recently happened in the life of a silly 18-year-old girl.

Ouch. My laptop just burned my lap. Pillow, where art thou?

I... already know that I am one of an incredibly whimsical nature. How else would I amuse myself in the early hours of the morning? And so many of my close friendships have begun with one simple statement: "Leslie, you're so weird."

I do not deny that the usual utterance of that statement from the very lips of my closest peers only brings out in me affection for the sayer. Their acceptance of that fact, their very acceptance of me being who and what I am, moves my ever-hardening cold heart.
But when strangers, people who barely know even one-fourth of my history, living less than a year of my life with me, let those words fall matter-of-factly from their lips, there is nothing else I want to do but shun almost everyone in my life. And this is something I can barely explain without people out there, people of very short tempers, getting angrier and angrier as I try my best to avoid their accusing glances.

--You know what? I don't care.

I've gone through the scrutiny of this world before and I have many people who have lived alongside me, understood me, and embraced the very core of my being. My insanity, my craziness, my utter youthfulness, whatever you want to call it; it is me. And I honestly do not see any reason why you have the right to judge and criticize me, expecting me to change just because you will me to.

Do not act as if you have me all figured out. Just because you know one complete and proven trivia about me doesn't mean you have access to change my mood and my behavior. Yes, I may have been open enough to enclose unto you information about myself that may further give reason to my present being, but only Time will provide you the right to be justifiably disappointed in me. And only until Time allows, will I listen to your childish retorts.

And that, sir, is something you need to accept. I do not and I will not submit to you nor will your frustrations faze me in the least. I am not yours to change.

So don't you dare stamp your foot at me like a child spoiled rotten to the point of forgetting respect. Not even for you will I break a promise I've made to everyone I hold dear. Not even for you.

--

After having written that, addressed to a person blinded, I only realize how many other things crossed my mind in this past hour...

I am exhausted. With everything.