Just like my dad was, I’m a fairly simple person.

Unlike my dad, though, I’m not as smart as he was.

I’ve always hated being told what to learn, preferring to learn what I wanted to learn on my own. Because of this fact, when I graduated from high school in 1992, I was certain that I didn’t want to further my education.

I’ve always loved to read, but I stuck to mid-level intelligence only required books, like Christopher Pike and later on, Stephen King.

A personal favorite of mine.

I think the heaviest classic book that I’ve ever read was “To Kill a Mockingbird” by Harper Lee, which remains my favorite book to this day. I’d have to add “The Belle Jar” by Sylvia Plath as well.

I struggled to comprehend “10 Days in a Madhouse” by Nellie Bly with all of the olden-time speak and “The Odyssey” made my brain hurt.

Me no likey epic greek poetry. The only Homer I like is Homer Simpson.

The fibro fog doesn’t help matters, but even before that became an issue, I still struggled to compute things beyond my capacity and scope of understanding.

What I’m trying to say is, I’m not all that bright.

Who needs a brain when I look this fucking good?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a complete dumbass. I’m just a person who perhaps has a better than average vocabulary than other people, but I find that oftentimes, I need to look up a word. I also sometimes need to reread a paragraph a few times before it starts to make a lick of sense to me.

Foreign concepts take forever to steep into my brain, like a teabag in a mug of lukewarm water.

If I read one of your posts and leave a short, silly, hilarious comment, that’s because I am trying to cover up the fact that I can’t think of anything even remotely brilliant to say.

But if you’re interested in the process of cremation, ask away.