Wednesday, June 25, 2008
1. I'm deathly afraid of the dark. When I was little, I used to sleep with a plastic mini coat rack (the one that hangs on the back of a door or on a wall) in my hand to beat any ghost/person/unknown entity that might sneak up on me while I lay alone. To this day, I sleep with the TV on to simulate another person's presence in the room. Now I even go as far as to play downloaded movies and episodes of TV shows on my computer monitor when no TV is present. My sisters think it’s funny; I think it's debilitating.
2. Though most people never notice, I don't wear shorts in public. I developed a bad case of eczema right around the time I started going through puberty. At such a vulnerable time in my (mental) development, I was ashamed of any irregularities. The eczema got better, but my self-perception did not. Thus, my legs are made to suffer for my insecurity. (Sorry legs. I really do love you. I promise.)
3. I have full-blown conversations with other people both audibly and internally when those people aren't around. I say what I think they might say and react accordingly, often with added intonation and appropriate emotion. It's something I do to make up for the fact that I can't seem to grasp even the most rudimentary fundaments of social interaction. This is why I write better than I speak and why I plan to be a recluse for the remainder of my life... a plan that academia seems to view as ideal...here's to a successful future...
4. As my best friend Andrea admitted, I'm a pack rat. I can't bear to part with things even when I know that I have no use for them. I kept homework sheets from the first grade in my closet until my parents moved from the house in Philly. They threw them out, and I cringed from 100+ miles away. This fact becomes more interesting when one considers that I also have a mild case of OCD. Talk about being one's own worst enemy.
5. When I was little, I could not stand loud noises. They bothered me to the point where I would drop everything I was doing (or holding, apparently) and cover my ears. A couple days ago, my Godmother was telling my brother about how everyone knew not to give me any glass bottles or fragile things to hold when walking with me through the streets (I grew up in Philly). To this day, my eyes still twitch when fire trucks or motor cycles go by.
6. I sometimes buy books with no intentions to read them. I like how they smell and feel and would be perfectly content with having a library full of ones that I have never read. Just the idea of having a study with walls resplendently bedecked with bookshelves that are packed with books is almost exciting enough to be the sole reason for my desire to succeed. I love to read. Don't get me wrong. I just love the physical aspect of books a little more.
Alright then, that's it. I lay bare before you and hope the sight is an altogether endurable one.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Hello World. It's me again, finally...
Since I've worked hard to establish a precedent of stating the obvious at the most ridiculous (read: glaringly unnecessary) moments, I'm going to take time out to say: "It's been a while."
Now, in defiance of my previous nod toward precedent, I'm going to admit in (relatively) plain English what has caused the hiatus and the--arguably long overdue-- face-lift that this humble repository of cerebral refuse has undergone. Things have changed.
This change in no way resembles that of the present variety. It isn't the fleeting, taciturn, easy-mac and speed dating type of change that we've come to know over the years. It's the type that calls into question every decision I've ever made. It's the kind that brings to bear every black fear I've ever faced about the contiguous actions (and resulting reactions) that have shaped what lies both between my ears and within my heart.
* * *
In order to save myself from a relapse into a imobilizing bout of self-scrutiny, Ill just say that there were times when I felt trapped in my own mind, both afraid and unable to leave from behind the self-erected bars of isolation. The bars were my bars, the fears were my fears, and the pains were my escape. I was (and, to an extent, still am) a masochist of the most secret variety.
Since then I've graduated in more ways than I care to admit, and, in so doing, have become someone to and with whom I'm still trying to (re) connect. It's been slow going. Still, I'm making progress. Despite the fact that there's a host of "no more's" in my life right now (Rutgers, Undergrad, "free" lodging, gratuitous slacking, reckless abandon...), I've yet to jump off of any bridges or into any oncoming traffic...a feat that I'm more than a little happy to have pulled off, if for no other reason than a naked desire for self preservation.
I'm even learning how not to bastardize parts of myself that seem to garner attention, no matter how ill deserved...yeah.
All this to say, you'll be hearing from me more often. Now that I've spruced up the place and have re-broken the ice, I think writing here will be more --what has come to be--me.