I know I have no chance to define normality, nor have it fall in between two points, two limits, two walls or two clouds.
I know that what seems normal to me does not have to be the same measure of normal for others. But I keep stressing myself when I see that people, especially the ones whom I have high expectations of, are doing things in the exactly opposite way.
Who am I to decide that the sky should be blue, people should walk with their feet on earth and not the clouds, that hands are made to be woven in pairs or only milk and cinnamon sugar is good for coffee?
Some days, all I can do is sigh.
So I’ll just repeat what the little girl I babysat said to her father one day, and simply call it a day: "Daddy, I don’t make you get mad, you get mad all by yourself."