Excerpted from the moleskine.
It’s 630am and I’m far from losing my mind from a need of a slumber, but I need to admit and get this down on paper. I am fucking crazy. No doubt. I have deeply-rooted mental issues and those closest to me are sometimes convinced of it. Sometimes I convince myself of being institutionally retarded; Kate witnesses this when I crack for no apparent reason. No harm is done, I just, over-think and I crack for a couple of moments. I eventually nap it off.
I do, however, counter this thought when I realize how much better of a design-thinker I am shaping up to be. I lack so many cognitive skills. My math skills are inexplicably horrible, my ability to pay attention in anything I don’t relate to design is stupid. For some odd reason, Frank Miller’s 300 is a new story to me. Kate reminded me that we took a class last summer that went over the Spartans and Persians. All I could say at the moment was, “What the fuck?! There were Persians?! Aren’t the Spartans supposed to be fighting the Trojans or Athenians?” No lie.
There are a few major history lessons I missed out on as a kid (apparently as an adult,too). What I was doing and what I was thinking is beyond my grasp, but I can tell you I was in class—just not mentally.
My energy to pay attention was always directed elsewhere, so of course I’m not just a sitting vegetable. Lately, in the last year or two, my inability to focus has been strongly directed to relating ideas, concepts, thoughts, experiences to design. I’m obsessed.
Sometimes it causes me to forget how to carry on a conversation with people if it doesn’t involve design. What ends up happening is I talk about music, old school cartoons, Avatar, potty humor or a recent favorite of mine, The Office.
The point is, I am a retardedly bright individual and I am coming to terms with this.