As always, whenever you read this blog I will put disclaimers in if they are stories that are told. What you read may or may not be true. Some of these are notes and ideas for the next book, although you'll have no idea where anything comes from. Nobody has been able to crack the codes in my writing yet.
There's been a group of people that have been following me for, well, just about as long as I can remember. They've always been there. I have seen them over the years, especially when I was younger, when those convex glasses you get to put on when you reach adulthood do not cover a child's eyes. They've been there, I've seen them, but I never associated them with anything. But I knew they were different. I knew they were special and I knew they were there only for me.
I can see them still, but now I know why they are there. I realized that there job has been to not only blend in to everything and everywhere, but it was also to help me blend in, to hide and disguise me. Make me normal. They did a great job. They hid me so well trained me to do so from a young age that the people around me didn't even know me; partly that is my nature, for I now know and understand who I am. I know they had to. I understand now the importance of it.
My mother just came into my room and told me she never knew how creative I was. I'm 42 years old, discharged dishonorably without a regret or care about it. I have no job, but the people that are supposed to be close to me can finally see who I am. It's because I can finally see who I am. Clearly, without the convex lenses as an adult. The people that trained me in the shadows were responsible for my camouflage. I realized that just now. I had the option to be angry, but I realized that anger is weak. I am not weak. I know what I am, therefore I am not angry at my protectors. I just wanted them to know that.
