Introduction




At the time of my writing this, I am 24 years old. I say this, because I often find it monotonous to write a serious personal summary and allow it to represent myself accurately as something which is all-encompassing of my presentation. I am constantly fluctuating and evolving, and my image as portrayed in public media is extensive and varied. So, who am I? If you spoke to me firsthand, what would you discover?



If I had to sit down and gauge how bored I really am with light, airy conversation, I would place it somewhere between kneeling in the pews of Catholic mass while being forced to regurgitate 50 ‘Hail Mary’s, and actually reading Stephenie Meyer’s ‘Twilight’ all the way through.



Let’s think about it for a minute. In a zombie apocalypse, no one is going to give a rat’s ass about who you were, or what your life was like before the whole world went to hell. All those casual conversational topics would be rendered completely useless and irrelevant; “What do you do for a living?” … “Where did you go to school?” … “Are you a cat-person, or a dog-person?” etc.



All that matters in a do-or-die situation is how you choose to conduct yourself. When the chips are down, what kind of person are you…?



(A loathsome cat-person, I’ll bet.)



…Just kidding; I love cats. One of my favourite people in the whole world is a cat. In fact, as I’m writing this I had to briefly pause to go find her wandering about my living space, scoop her up into my arms, and cradle her lovingly—as though she were a small child.



To be perfectly honest with you, dear reader; I’d be lying if I said I didn’t fancy the prospect of “normalcy,” which is to say, being happily in love and all fluffy little things which follow… A white picket fence (with a modest little house attached), spawned offspring, laundry and dishes, cooking and cocktail parties, what the hell; maybe even church on Sundays! If I were the praying sort.



In any case, I find it difficult to sum myself up in a manner which isn’t cryptic or altogether evasive. And if I were to take on a more blunt approach…? I am a quixotic, lascivious creature whose mind by sheer breadth and volume yearns to reach even the deepest, darkest crevices of her soul to a maddening measure. I long to stretch thin the threads of my innermost sense of being, only to be snatched back again by the same hands that would lead me there.



…Also, my hallux toes are the biggest on both my feet!



^ That was a joke; get it? When shit gets too heavy or deep, you’re supposed to turn it into a joke to keep things from getting awkward. Expressing deep feelings and thoughts make you socially awkward. Conversational monopolization (that doesn’t make you look like an asshole) is a practiced skill and some people learn it quicker than others. These people have less social blunders, by keeping everyone else around them at proverbial arms’ length in the off chance they would accidentally ‘let slip’ such introspective reflection. Some people never learn this skill at all—but those people usually have, like, autism or something.



Then of course there are varying levels of maturity which determine how a person handles the humiliation of being the catalyst for socially awkward situations. Maybe rather than learning to place jokes designed to soften the blow of a deep (or challenging) thought, we should instead learn to be ‘okay’ with something that would otherwise make us very uncomfortable for someone else to call us on, or look down on us for. Humiliation is derived of insecurity. A person who is confident in their abilities and the manner in which they present themselves is not often humiliated.



So what kind of person am I, then…?



I’d suspect I’m a little of both; the one making jokes to rescue the afflicted from their own discomfort (and in turn, my own) and the one who just doesn’t give a fuck. Maybe people with autism and those of us who have simply come to grips with someone else’s projected discomfort aren’t so awkward after all; maybe it’s them.



And maybe that’s not my problem.



Perhaps my “problem” is that I have built a fantasy world around myself as a means of coping with the realities which make up our collective existence. I find myself most often relating to characters in film and literary works whose reality is such that illusion and escapism are viable alternatives. It is for this reason that I so strongly sympathize with Donnie Darko, and empathize with Amélie.



Whatever the case may be, my goal is a clear constant in spite of an ever-changing means to achieve it. I seek self-validation by way of influencing the “real world” with my fantasy. Only then do my ideals become a reality, in themselves; a part of someone else’s reality. In the end, I only wish to help shape the world for the better.



Welcome to my world. Make yourself comfortable.