Black Sheep

I had a discussion the other day about being the black sheep of the family and what it actually means. 

I guess in order to be one you need to have siblings really for the comparison to be made, but nevertheless there’s no two ways about it. I’m a black sheep, slightly defiant and a rebel! 

The term is generally considered as negative, implying waywardness. (Apparently a flock of white sheep don’t want a black one in their midst).

But is it really bad to be different? I don’t think so.  I don’t deliberately try to be different I just am different. I like doing my own thing. I like my own space in my own little world. I do not conform to what society says I should do how how I should act. I do not really follow rules. Rules are controlling and set in stone. I change my mind a lot. It doesn’t mean I don’t respect authority and others rules- I just don’t have any for myself. One day I was happy and healthy the next I had a tumour in my breast trying to kill me. Fuck the rules. Things change at a drop of a hat. 

I know what’s right and wrong, but all too often I like wrong. Wrong is daring and fun and mischievous. Yes wrong can get you in to trouble but I’ll deal with the consequence later.

Being a black sheep is fun. I’ll probably be the one giggling at someone’s funeral not because it’s funny but because I feel slightly awkward.  I’m a great friend don’t get me wrong; full of empathy and love. I will look out for you but I can’t promise I won’t lead you astray because I probably will… 


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