I Wanna Be Weird Again

I used to wear the craziest outfits. It didn’t matter if they matched my gender, the weather or what everybody else was wearing. Mismatched colors, sizes, styles and material were haphazardly thrown on my body with the greatest care. Who said I couldn’t have sleeves covered with zippers and button? Or a scarf made from police “Do Not Cross” tape? Or sneakers with poetry written on them? Everybody in college knew me for my wide brimmed black hat that had pieces of baby dolls pasted to it.

Now all I wear are jeans and t-shirts. And not even the subversive T-shirts I used to wear. My “I’ll Fuck Anything... Except You” shirt vanished long ago.

My shoes are all simple slip-ons now. No heels or spikes or shoelaces made of lace. My combat boots long ago donated to Good Will. I still have my happy kittens vs. dead kittens sneakers, but no longer wear them because they hurt my feet if I stand in them too long.

I used to dye my hair blue, pink, purple and green. Now I barely dye it to match its original color. I no longer shave sections of it, cut it at random lengths, or gel it into spikes that looked like they could reach the sky. I’ve had the same, regular haircut for years. At the same, regular chain salon.

I used to write poetry filled with profanity. Paint pictures of genitalia using real pubic hair. Take pictures of things I found in the garbage. And make sculptures out of barbed wire, feathers and those little tables they put on the pizza so the box won’t crush it. And I had journals filled with short stories and sudden fiction. Now I can barely finish writing an email to my mother.

My friends used to be even stranger. They’d pierce themselves everywhere. Have exciting sexual adventures. Talk about everything from Russian literature to German philosophy to ThuderCats cartoons to what it would be like if porcupines ruled the Earth. Now, my friends only brag about their kids, or whine about their illnesses, aches and pains. We went from Bacchanalias in the cemetery to boring Sunday barbecues in Becky’s backyard.

I used to go to the park, stand on my head and watch the world for hours. Now I sit in front of the television all night.

I wanna be weird again. Do things people don’t expect of me. Have new experiences. Recapture my youth.

Maybe tomorrow.

Tom Misuraca studied writing at Emerson College in Boston before moving to Los Angeles. Over 100 of his short stories and two novels have been published. Most recently, his story, Giving Up The Ghosts, was published in Constellations Journal, and nominated for a Pushcart Prize. He is also a multi-award winning playwright with over 135 short plays and 11 full-lengths produced globally. His musical, Geeks!, was produced Off-Broadway in May 2019.