Jazzy Wheel Chair

Jazzy Wheel Chair
My life… is there something wrong …?

Ok. Story of part of my life.
My grandpa traveled to California in a jazzy, you know one of those wheel chair things that you can control youself. My uncle threatened to kill me when I was in my moms stomach. My cousins are on drugs, but they always want to hang with me. My siblings are bored, making me bored because my family is so quiet. I am shy, thus everyone thinks I am a “schwa,” in other words a freak. People look at me in the halls like “who are you, a walking zombie freak?” No one likes me because I don’t talk even though I’m one of those people that like to discuss things in my mind, if that makes any sense. I’m a watcher, not a involver. Meaning I watch how people interact to certain situations, not an involver meaning I’m the one that does the interacting. I have the weirdest stories to tell about my life, but I can’t because I can’t type any more words on this stupid thing.. Any advice, help, tips to make me feel normal?….

Well, my dear. I have one bit of advice for you. Come with me, and jump on a freight train. We will travel across the county, seeing the the sights. We will proceed to board a cargo ship on the eastern seaboard, after which we will ride to Italy. We will then work in a bakery with artisan breads. There will be no need to fit in, because there will be no place to fit in! It will be the ultimate plan! Well, as for your grandpa, I advise you to confinscate the jazzy, and do not speak to your uncle.
The best of wishes to you, my dear
Carmen San Diego