January 2013: Energy / NaBloPoMo

Tell Me About Yourself

So, tell me about yourself.

What do you want to know?

Whatever you’d like to tell me.

Huh. Where do we begin? I have twenty years worth of living under my belt. Maybe less, considering I spent an entire summer doing nothing but watch Netflix until my eyes dried out. Though that’s not really true. The eye part, at least. A lot of people complain about their eyes drying out, but mine don’t. Maybe my eyeballs have evolved to withstand the stress of a computer screen. Ha. Take that. Survival of the fittest in iPad-laden world of ours. Charles Darwin would be proud, you say, but I say no! Survival of the fittest was coined by Herbert Spencer after he studied Darwin, and he used it in reference to racial superiority. Not so great now, is it? Let the harsh metallic aftertaste of that revelation sit in your mouth for a bit.

Anyway. You want to know about me. What aspect would you like to know about? Physically, I’m small, but you can see that. I could tell you I’m smart, but that sounds arrogant, and I can assure you, I actively attempt not to come off as arrogant. I could tell you I’m nothing more deep down than an aspiring writer, even if that sounds cliche. I could even tell you I love coffee, but in this day and age, you might think I’m just a teeny-bopper Frappuccino drinker. I mean, I love a good peppermint mocha, but a well-brewed drip coffee with cream and sugar is great too.

Have I said anything of worth? Everything sounds so generic. Tons of people like coffee and have notebooks filled with unfinished plot ideas. Where are the nuances that make me unique? What differentiates me from all the other girls you could–or even might–be texting right now?  You could ask me questions, and I could answer them, and maybe that’ll paint you a picture of who I am. Or maybe it won’t do much at all.

You say you like my personality, and I’m laughing because I don’t know how you’ve managed to glean anything from what I’ve said. You also say I’m pretty, to boot. I’m not going to tell you that I don’t believe you, or warn you that you’ll be disappointed when you actually see me in person, and not just my pictures. That shows that I’m insecure, which ultimately I am, but you don’t need to know that.  Although, truth be told, I actually don’t look very different from my pictures. Maybe you won’t be disappointed. Maybe I am sort of pretty after all.

Say, do you want to go out for coffee or something when you get back?

Let’s do this.

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