When I was young I loved useless musings. My journals were filled with poetry based on perceived heartbreak and opinions that never changed the world,and later they were filled with real heartbreak warped into art,and opinions that never changed the world.

Allot has changed since then. I rarely write songs,on paper anyway,though it still is a big part of my personality. I rarely write long political rants without weighing the bigger picture and ensuring that I what I have to say is not emotions weighing in on the culture wars. Allot has happened to me,and much of it was my own doing. If I were weighing success on progress,then I am doing alright. If I were weighing progress by success then well-I don’t have a great record with either.

I am a very introspective person,and I can be analytic. Maybe that is why I chose psychology as a major,to have a venue for the madness. I always enjoyed the emotional ride that a psychological drama (movie) could take me on. I tend to write my poetry in layers that some people didn’t understand. Maybe I wrote them that way so that some part of them stayed mine. For all my introspective and analytic behavior, there are some questions I really cant stand. Believe me I consider myself to be open and honest….just not an open jewelry box throwing my pearls to the swine. Anyway,once I have told some pretty interesting information about myself,and my perceptions on the said information,then why am I still getting the question:

“What makes you unique”

Really? What makes anyone unique? I answered with the usual answers. My traits as a person,my beliefs as a person,my mistakes that have made me who I am. Regrets I still have to this day. That was not the answer being sought.

“So what makes you-you”

I make me-me. What the heck kind of question is that? Maybe I really have a wall to certain parts of myself,but in all honesty I think I just despise self serving ,naval gazing questions. As if I am the poster child representing women everywhere (as it is generally men who ask me this type of question.) Yes I know,we all wanted men to be more conversational and to listen…but that’s the point is it not? Listen….if you are listening to me,and getting to know me and seeing all my issues or perceived issues,then you know what makes me unique,in contrast to Jane Bell down the street. After all-we are all unique and special…just like everyone else.

Maybe it was the fact that I did not know how to answer the question that got me frustrated. Socrates said “Know thyself”,and apparently,according to my inquisitor,most people do not. I thought I knew myself. Until I went to a blog opening party last night…yes a blog opening party. It was for a coffee shop in Mountain Brook,one of my favorite places to be. They have a tumblr.They have a facebook and they have the best small business book store on the block in my opinion. Now they have a blog with e-books…but that is beside the point. At their opening there were local rock bands-usually always a plus. I was completely lost here.

I don’t mingle. I can buy a latte and talk about books with the Church Street Coffee barista’s,I can talk about a movie with a member of the country club. I can discuss an array of topics,but here among bohemian dressed artsy type college age people I was out of place. I can dress the part-I can write long lyrics and understand other writers long lyrics,but I… do…. not… mingle among strange people of the same type. I thought it was the age,but then older people came in, representatives of lives hard lived. I ate a couple of cookies and had a iced coffee,because I don’t drink beer and left.

I thought of the question asked to me”what makes you….”,and felt a small sadness creep in my throat. I remembered going to MEPS and thinking it smelled like the government and panicking before I was bound to that establishment. I beat myself up for far too long for it,and maybe that explains the infatuation with Ron Paul,the man provides sanity for my panic 3 years ago.

I thought about the vast amount of blogs I have had and quit. I thought of being a little girl and wanting to just grow up to be pretty and famous. Then growing up just trying to make the “right” decision and be able to take care of myself. Forget the pretty girls. Between then and now the two parts of my personality tend to collide. I have a book on my shelf signed by Oliver North and on the next shelf I have Bob Dylan’s autobiography…two copies actually. I was in a near state of  “here we go again” and it hit me. I am a writer,I know this. I observe,I listen and usually I theorize on situations and people and they are completely accurate assessments. I can do it right now: “Ahem-cough-most of that room of hippie kids didn’t know who they were either,they were playing the “free spirit anti establishment role because it is trending”. (see there,now lets go check them out in a few months shall we) I watch you and write about you later,although the entry may be layered so no one knows who you are (like the idiot at the beginning of this blog).

My longings are usually attempts to experience and understand and that is probably part of why for years there were unsettled questions of  “what am I going to do” or “where am I going to go”,because I wanted to go everywhere and do everything,and I wanted to be good at it and it to mean something. (Just for the love of God don’t put me in a crowd and leave me to mingle) So that is who I am,and as crazy or even unreliable as my past decisions may prove that I am,it has already happened. So all the crazy thoughts and experiences  is what make me (and anyone reading) “unique” and to say anything else would be pretentious egotistical bullsh*t,because even my idiot inquisitor cannot answer it about himself.

 

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