I am a Worm

People ask me, “why do you call yourself names so much?” I say, “my self-confidence didn’t go up until I realized that humans are morons and I am not, in fact, the exception to that rule. It gave me a way to recognize the humor in all of my quirks, because all of my stories, no matter how legal, are funny as crap because of the way I frame them. They’re framed in my head like that, too. I don’t let bad memories eat me alive anymore, and that’s what is SO freeing. The bonus part of going to Al-anon now is that the tapes I have are *so* old that I am able to listen to my own voice without flooding out emotionally. Them being old has created a layer of clinical scrutiny, as if I am the next greatest psychotherapist in the entire world because I’m so clever on the inside, dumb on the outside (there has to be a name as derogatory a term as “oreo” for that. Who’s on it? Double Stuff, baby.).

Speaking of being clever, when I watch Doctor Who, I begin to appreciate the value of “clever.” The Doctor uses it for both defense and distraction. He uses humor as deflection when you shoot an arrow at a millennium of pain.

My name is Leslie Lanagan, and whether you like it or not, I am the 12th Doctor. Just not in Wales.

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