An Introduction to My Mind

Before you know anything else about me, it is imperative that you know this: no matter what it is that you say or do to me, I will find a way to over-analyze it. I think too much in general, particularly with matters of little to no consequence. I'm just that type of cat. It's what I do.

I suppose it's also important to note that I'm a bit of an odd bird when it comes to my trains of thought, and the ways in which they leave the station. Some people think in circles. Most people think in chains, or straight lines. I think more in webs. Each thought I have connects to a few more thoughts, in different directions. Occasionally, I go leapfrogging in my conversations. And I'm certain I will do the same in my writing.

I think I love people too much. I carry on elaborate emotional affairs with everyone in my life. Both men and women. Occasionally I decide that these relationships stem from a sort of "non-sexual crush" (which my mother, of course, does not believe exists). I even have a non-sexual soulmate. She's a heterosexual, long-distance life-partner. Inexplicably, I don't even speak to her on any sort of regular basis. But on any occasion that we're in the same place at the same time, we are able to pick up where we left off without any sort of hitch. I find that I can do that with everyone in my life, actually. I can sort of pick of the pieces of the past and continue with them, ignoring the void-like interim in the relationship. Over the last couple of months, I've had strong reconnections with a few people whom I've barely seen since high school. Now, they've suddenly become part of my inner-circle. How does that happen?

I've fought hard to leave certain parts of my life behind. I wanted to distance myself from the awkward girl who endured mocking and social isolation throughout her formative years. I went to college in a different state; to a school that no one I knew was to be attending. After college I moved to a city where I knew fewer people than I could count on one foot (what? like no one else counts on their toes?). I treat it as though it's an experiment. Maybe I'm continually in search of myself. I have a feeling it's more a form of escapism. I'm always in need of some fresh start. I can be something better, something more desirable, if I can sandblast my slate. I can become the person I want to be. Nay, the person I was MEANT to be.

I wonder if I ever really change.

Every six months or so, I have a complete revamp of my soul. I go through a huge, world-altering metamorphosis, and I determine that this new being is the person I was meant to be. I think back to a few months before and naively think, "wow, I've really changed this time." I suppose I have, in some way, grown. But changed? Probably not. Otherwise, how would I be able to so freely pick up where I'd left off with those friends of mine?

My last major, life-altering time came a few months back (perhaps that means I'm due for an emotional tune-up soon. God, I hope not. They take a lot out of me). I was in a play (not a particularly good one, if you were curious). The play itself had nothing to do with my new mindset. Rather, it was the people I met while working on it. I started going to bars, and being social (which, previously, had always been awkward for me). Suddenly, I had found a crop of people who were all willing to buy me drinks and let me dance like a maniac around them. Before meeting them, I'd been drunk three times in my life. And then, in a matter of a couple of weeks, the number had been inflated to eight (I'm not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed by that). They gave me a level of self-confidence that I had never known before (a boost that would be dangerous to a normal person, but not to self-conscious, self-loathing me). Suddenly, I wanted to be free to do as I pleased. And I broke up with the person I had been dating for over two years.

Ah, there's the real change. It wasn't the drinking, the dancing, and the partying. It was the break-up. I broke up with a fantastic fellow, whom I respect, adore, and admire. It became apparent that, despite all the wonderful attributes he had to his name, I was unhappy. I wanted to go wild. I wanted to flirt with the world (a skill that I'm still learning... somehow, I graduated college without ever properly cultivating it). I wanted to be able to acknowledge men hitting on me. Somewhere in the last couple of years, males had begun to find me attractive, and I had been doing my best to strategically ignore it. And so I, for lack of a better word, dumped my boyfriend.

I felt guilty (I broke my best friend's heart. You'd feel guilty, too. And if you wouldn't, well then, you have no soul)... but suddenly the doors in front of me sprung open, and the world went into a strange, unfamiliar Technicolor. Everything was lighter, brighter, newer, cleaner, stranger, and slightly more perverse. And I liked it. People hit on me. People asked me out. People grabbed at me in public places (alright, that part I didn't enjoy... but it was occasionally amusing. And that which doesn't kill us either makes us stronger or makes for a damn good story later on). And about five different guys asked me out. My juice was flowing and I had arrived on the scene. I hadn't realized it (apparently I had previously had some sort of "relationship blinders" on) that certain people had been attempting to lure me into their arms for months. And then, once the problems in my long-standing, long-distance, long-lacking relationship became apparent to them, they became vultures. They circled over my head, waiting for my relationship to die so that they could identify the perfect moment to swoop down and grab me.

I'm really rather dense when in comes to certain things, like flirting. I never know when people want me. When people are interested, they have to pull out a mariachi band and serenade me before I get the picture. How I'm that oblivious to romantic and sexual gestures is beyond me. I like to think of myself as a fairly perceptive person. I suppose this falls into the category of the "random things I'm bad at."

I have many skills and strengths, in varied areas. That's probably why I changed my major 118 times before graduating from college (in four years... the joys of a liberal arts school. I accidentally fulfilled all my general education requirements by bouncing around from one department to the next). Well, that and my indecisive nature, but that's neither here nor there. But the things I'm poor at are things that no one should have trouble with. They're either embarrassing or cute, depending on whom it is that you ask. I can't find things that are right in front of my nose. I have trouble reading analog clocks. I find it difficult to make things fit into envelopes. I'm always worried that I'm miscalculating tips. I occasionally have difficulty screwing lids back onto jars. I also have difficulty with the initial task of removing lids from jars, but I have a feeling that it's more common to struggle with that, particularly for people of my gender. Not that I think women can't be strong... we just have daintier hands (or, in my case, awkward, gangly, alien-like ones).

The weakness I have that seems to frustrate others the most is my inability to take compliments. I know it's ridiculous, but it's true. I can't even explain it to my own liking. When I am paid a compliment, I feel the need to argue against it. I have this feeling that the person is being insincere in order to butter me up for something. Or they're lying in an effort to mock me in some way (rough adolescence... you understand). It's especially difficult to accept if I don't agree with the compliment. How can I say "thank you" when this person is so obviously mistaken? Also problematic is when they compliment something that I have no control over. It's nice that someone thinks I have beautiful eyes, but they're really not of my making. Somehow it would be different if they were complimenting my dress. I picked out that dress, I paid for that dress, and I decided to wear that dress that day. That's the kind of compliment that I can handle, because, let's face it, I deserve it. I have astonishingly good taste in dresses. And anyone who says otherwise is obviously lying out of acute envy.

I've just made a mental note to start a list of things I'm bad at, for future reference. I make lists a great deal. I actually have a notebook reserved for these lists. I have a list of potential party themes, a list of famous people I've been compared to, and a list of things that make me smile. I have about ten lists dedicated to names in various fashions (I'm a little obsessed with names). And I have the requisite list of "Things I Want to Do Before I Die", which I know I will never achieve. I like having all of that information on paper as opposed to in my head, as trying to juggle all of that can make anyone's brainwaves a bit turbulent. I have to hide my book of lists most of the time, as there are some lists that I don't wish to become public knowledge. I don't trust anyone enough with the information contained by them.

There are a few lists that I am particularly protective over. I guard them so intently that I leave them vague enough that even I occasionally have trouble with recalling what they mean. As a good friend of mine once told me, "never in writing." I've had written statements haunt me in the past (particularly with a dreadful AIM conversation I had my first year of college. *shudder* Wow... I hadn't mentally revisited that one in awhile), and I refuse to allow them to harm me in the future. The first of these lists is titled "Soulmate Expectations" (which is a horrid name for it... but I started this book in high school, so I deserve forgiveness on that one). It's a list of certain things that I have to keep in mind with guys, and every item on the list is written as "The ______ Thing". One example of this being "The Hair Thing". That one's the silliest on the list, and the only one I feel comfortable putting out into cyberspace. The right man for me will be one who cares about his appearance, but doesn't spend hours grooming himself. If a gentleman is obsessed with his hair, it just isn't going to work out between us (take note, all potential suitors... I may have just saved you a lot of time and pain). I recently started a list of "Deal Breakers" (which is different from the expectations list... most things on that are what I want a fellow to be... this new list is things I want him NOT to be. A subtle but important distinction... I did mention that I think too much). And then there's the most secret (and, perhaps, most silly) of my lists: "Cues".

My "Cues" list is undoubtedly the dumbest thing I've ever come up with. Every once in awhile, I'll hear/see/experience something and think, "if a guy ever says/does/acts like this, I'll know." What I'll know, exactly, isn't really set in stone. I suppose if I'm dating someone who sets off one of these alarms, maybe that'll mean that I can take the next step with him. If I already knew he was a keeper, perhaps that'll mean he's the One (is there such a thing? Outside of "The Matrix", I mean? I'll save that inner-battle for another date). If it's someone that I meet casually, I'll know that I should pursue a relationship with him. It's ridiculous, I know. Some are things that happen in movies, some are lines from songs... You'd find me to be barking mad if you knew some of the things on that list. Actually, I'm not sure why I'm so protective of it. If someone can look at the words "The Nonsense Thing" or "The Cell Phone Commercial Thing" and know (or be able to figure out) how to sweep me off my feet, maybe he deserves whatever promotion he was applying for. I don't think I'm transparent enough for that type of decoding to come easily to anyone. (Allow me to take a moment to revel in my own sense of mystery... Ahhhh.)

I've actually had to remove a few things from my list of cues over the years, as people stumbled across them unknowingly. A good friend of mine answered a question I asked with one of the cues a few years back. For the next eight minutes, I was in love. Luckily, I realized that the cue was too easy of a wire to trip before I began making wedding arrangements (this is especially fortunate, as he had an unpronounceable surname, which I'm very grateful not to be saddled with... and then there's the part about "ruining the friendship"... but he and I ended up growing apart anyway, so he was obviously not the One). Another of my friends set off sirens when he hugged me in a specific way, just as I had seen somewhere before and made a mental note of (you understand why I have a book of lists... I make too many mental notes... a large portion of my brain has turned into a cobwebbed attic, and I can't find anything when I need it. I already mentioned that I'm horrible at finding things). Then I saw him greet two other friends in the same matter within a matter of seconds, and I rushed to cross that off the list as soon as I returned home. No, I am not going to fall that easily. I hope it has become apparent that I do not play hard to get; I genuinely AM hard to get. And I'm more than a little proud of that.

In any case, surely you can see why I feel the need to hide these things about myself. I don't want the nearest con artist to suddenly have a way into my heart. I like to keep myself heavily guarded, with plenty of walls and barricades (I imagine myself to be a human Hogwarts, if that means anything to you. If nothing else, I suppose it means that I'm a Harry Potter geek).

I've just come up with about eleven more things that I would like to delve into at some point, but I'm not going to do it now. I'm too easily distractible (I had a two hour phone conversation with a friend in the middle of writing this), and I need a break from myself. Train of thought writing only works if you stay on the train. Once you get off at a station to smoke, you end up running after the train as it takes off again, and by the time you run out of breath, you might as well wait until the next one. Well, I'm deciding to wait.

Much love, many blessings, and happy future reading (I assume you will be reading this again... after all, I'm delightful),

Angela