Every heart is a revolutionary cell.

The other night I was thinking about what would really make me a character.  This all stems because my friend Jay insists that he will use me as a character later in his life as a part of a short story or multiple short stories or a novel...point is, apparently, I'm a character.  Now, I don't really see how I'm a character. Of course, he didn't see how he was a character when I told him that I would probably use him in a story too. 

It was about two days ago.  In my current situation I can't hang out under my own terms. I have to wait for people to want to hang out and they come get me. This means that I have to do whatever they want, and I have no problem at all with this. It is easy and entirely untaxing on my decision making skills, which are very go-with-the-flow.  So, actually, it's about perfect.  I digress. I was riding around with my friends Amanda and her boyfriends Tyler who, for some reason, is called Skinny.  I think it is due to his lack of body fat, or, at least, that would make the most sense.  We were in downtown Knoxville -swell place, swell place-  sitting in the apartment of  their friends.  we gently passed a bubbler with a packed bowl of marijuana, a dirty, vile drug that makes everyone not want to hurt anything else and do nothing but laugh with one another.  Two of the guys, one of which I believe lived in the apartment, were talking abour their band, which, from the looks of the guys, probably sucks.  They mentioned the name of their bassist. Trent.  having a strangely high tolerance for someone who doesn't get to smoke pot near as often as he used to, I was merely "kinda high."  It was more of an effect of the fact that I wasn't paying attention than the weed, but I heard Strike instead of Trent.  This was before I knew Trent was their bassist, so I immediately conjured an image of a badass(?) guitarist wailing at a solo with his guitar that had, writtin in blood-colored lettering, Strike!  Well, regardless, of how maybe badass that would be...they informed me that I had heard wrong.  I wasn't too upset though. I would hope a guitarist named Strike would be in a band that looked a little better.

Useless story? Maybe, but it helps point out one facet of my person that I realized at work might actually make for a good character.  My aural perception.  I hear things wrong all the time.  It's really annoying to some of my friends, and it used to kinda get on my nerves. I stopped caring a while ago.  My (in)ability to hear words incorrectly compliments my imagination gorgeously, and my imagination is, if one thing, gorgeous.

There you go,

hs

"and you start singing that stupid children's song
You think I don't know it
but I just don't feel like singing it"