I wouldn't call myself a savant, but I sometimes come off that way; every so often someone will ask me what my IQ is, or if I have a photographic memory, or how it is that I just remember everything. . . .
Which I don't.
On the one hand, I am glad to be intelligent; my brain is, I think, one of the best tools I could possibly have for interpreting the world.
On the other hand, people are sacred of or alienated by it. . and that makes me really sad.
It's hard to be frightning to people based on something that I can't really control, that should be a good thing. It's not like I'm mean. . . or, at least, I try hard not to be mean. .
I even tried to dumb down for awhile. . .
that sucked. word is, don't.
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And if I die before I learn to speak
will money pay for all the days I lived awake but half asleep