My father was a very difficult person. He shifted and morphed his personality into at least thirty different people. That isn't to say that my mother was much better, she was also very conflicted. She would watch the chaos continue around her in a zen like state of nerotic control- freak delirium. Is it any wonder that I am, without a doubt, completely insane?

Or maybe I'm not...

That's a good possiblity, too. I once had a shrink that told me "If you are worrying that you're insane, you're not. Insane people ride reality like a demented rollercoaster without any tracks."

So I'm not insane. Or maybe I am... This train of thought is getting me nowhere.

I suppose, I should start at the very begining, Existentialism. Existentialism is the belief that reality is created from each person's point of view. To make it simple, it's the I'm real, you're a figment of my immagination and your life is controlled by how I want to create it. Yeah, confused yet?

Well, my father believed that with all of the strange and rather messed up things that had occured in his relatively short life, that he had to be coming up with this stuff himself. Nobody else could possibly be that twisted. Thus, existential beliefs.

My mother always played along. That was just one of those things that made life a little bit less monochrome. I guess you could say that parent's have a bi-polar relationship of love and competition to see who could make the other's brain run screaming from it's cranial cavity. Competition aside, they really did love eachother.

On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being normal and 10 being raised by the Manson family, I guess I'm about a 7. Mind you, that's not for a lack of trying on my parant's part. Although, which side of the scale they were aiming for, I'm still not quite sure.

It's not their fault, really. Our normal life seems like something out of a science- fiction novel. In fact, you can go to store and buy my parent's saga in 12 easy to digest portions at twenty bucks a pop. All of which became number one on the New York Best Sellers list. Go figure. I guess that can be expected when you have wings. Yes, that's right wings.

They're some sort of lab experriment from the 90's. No, I'm dead serious, you can stop laughting now. Thanks to some reality challeged psycho's with doctorates, I also have my very own set. Strange enough for you?

All of this is pretty key in understand the deserted wilderness that is my obvious sociological malfucntions. I'm not a party animal, I'm not a workaholic. I'm just a homebody with a fear of dogs who sits at home for a couple of weeks a year and molts. Yay for me.

Some days I wake up, drink my coffee and talk to my Aunt Angel in my head for hours at a time. Funny story about my Aunt, she's kind of, sort of, dead. Years ago, she developed these really nifty powers like the ability to speak telepathically and control people's mind. That's not even all of it. Then one day my entire family was trying to save the world for probably the nintyeth time and Angel over extended her psychic reach to save us all. The only way that this could be accomplished was to leave her body.

Imagaine it's like hanging onto a tree trying to shield the people below you from a torpedo with an unbrella, something's gotta give.

But the thing is, she didn't die. Well, yeah, technically she did but her mind is still functioning and she still participates in the family... Like a ghost. She's pretty cool actually.

Then there are my uncles, Iggy and Gazzy, who are the sole reason why my parents have four different house insurence policies. Let's just say this in mathmatical form... Iggy+ Gazzy BOOM! Clear enough picture? I certainly hope so.

Finally there's my Auntie Nudge, who is by profession a stock broker on wall street. She uses her abilities to feel the emotions left behind by other people and talk really fast to make the buku bucks.

Now, me. I am a teenage mutant ninja bird kid. Okay, maybe not 'ninja', but I am pretty good with a pair of fists. And all around, I'm well adjusted to the insanity of my life. My mother is a control freak, my father thinks he can controll reality, things explode around me on a daily basis and I have a dead aunt who likes to talk to me in my head.

My name is Sorcha Ride, and this has been a message from the public reality check services of America.