I can’t live as anything other than myself—I just can’t. I’ve got to be me, warts and all. And despite the fact that I’ve often felt out of step with the world, and that even now I still have days when I feel like a goddamned space alien, well, I’m the only me I’ve got, so I might as well get used to it. If anyone else doesn’t like my nerdy, skinny, glasses-wearing, strange-ass goofball weirdo self or the way I choose to live, if they are offended that I don’t fit their definition of “normal” or “cool,” well, that’s not my issue, so fuck ’em. Because I know I’m a good and decent person, and
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