I'm crazy. I'm okay with admitting this because it's a fact that is evident and something I can't hide; like the color of your hair or the cockeyedness of your eyes, you wear it visibly. However, it's not something I particularly like to talk about. I also don't like to blame my childhood rearing for making me such an emotionally fucked up individual. Nature AND nurture, motherfuckers. On that note, I do have the urge to go back in the memory archives and pull up August 1993.
It was a humid, miserable night. My family and I had just come home from watching my dad cling desperately to his youth, and forcing his poor, broken down body into playing softball. My mother told me to get into the bath because I was probably covered in dirt, cigarette butts, and gum from rolling around in ditches and shit. I did as I was told, happy and oblivious, singing songs and playing with whatever the hell was in the bathtub with me... a vcr, a hairdryer? (That's not really pertinent to the story.) So, I was straight chilling like a gangster when my dad walked in. He had a shit eating grin on his face and his hands were behind his back, but at this point in my life I'm young and naive to the ways of the world so I thought nothing of it. "Hey Batman, you almost done?" Before I could utter a friggin word that bitch threw a frog into the bathtub with me. I looked down at the water and watched the frogs' legs stretch out and propel its' body towards me, as it began to swim around me in a circular motion. I FLIP MY SHIT. I jump out of the bathtub, butt naked, and run around the house for an extended period of time until my mom caught me. Calling my father an "asshole" over and over again as I drench the floor.
And that's one of the numerous stories that have shaped me into who I am today... a fucked up individual.