I love writing. My world is upside-down just now, but will be righting itself shortly.
Well. "Shortly" seems to have come and gone. I have somehow survived being upside-down for months without fixing my situation. I'm considering how well and how long I can stay this way. If I can get rid of this whole Sword of Damocles feeling of rent hanging over me, perhaps I'll transition from seeking salaried positions to seeking contract work. I've got one decent lead, and only need three or four to keep myself fed and housed on my thrifty ways.

This needs an edit. Here's the new story:
I'm here to meet people. I'm not sure I buy the idea that okcupid's giving people what they believe they want is the proper way to match folks, but like capitalism or democracy, it seems like "the worst system in the world except for all the others." I think that's a Winston Churchill quote. Sounds like him, the cagey bastard.
Anyway.
In spite of misgivings, I'm here and I do by and large approve of the system and, unless you've found me by searching for high enemy percentage, odds are I approve of you and most of what you stand for.

My experience at the study of systems and figures and other underliers to the world has taken a lot of my time, and as a result I have a little less experience at things like travel and what my mom refers to as "bodying," which isn't sex but more...being present in one's body. Subjectivity. I'm used to dealing with my body and world objectively; I'm not sure how to say it better. I'm a big-time thinker, and don't always spend my time in the real world. I have nothing against reality; there are merely other things to do, and I spend some time doing them. If you disapprove and/or disbelieve, I may come across as fannish, forgetful, bubble-headed and/or consistently distracted.

But most of the time I'm not "being properly attentive," it's because I'm paying still-closer attention to some detail.
This reads like a description of autism, but I don't mean that at all. For one, I enjoy hugs.

As mentioned in the about me segment, I'm...metamorphosing. Also, writing.
Atypical day (they are all atypical days) finds me writing a fantasy short story. Today I'm working on a novel about the crossdimensional travels of an accountant and a professional thief who happen to be the same person, when the accountant discovers that some important objects have multiplied themselves in a way that is wholly unnatural.
My second novel is on hiatus for three weeks, until I can set up my poor li'l computer again. My work on my first novel attempt (which resulted in a novel-length...work...but not something of enough quality to bear the word novel. Even Eragon is better-organized, and even Vampirates has a better premise) taught me that my writing style changes drastically when I'm writing in someone else's house. This makes it a great time for composing new card games, short stories, and music, but bad for working on the middles of existing works.

For those of you who missed it, writing. I also have exceptional hearing, a keen sense of smell, excellent massage hands, solid problem-solving skills (I felt I should add this, because I could feel myself dipping into resume-writing mode), impressive balance (I've had lessons in aikido, ninjutsu, tai chi, and tightrope), and a bottomless pit of a stomach.
Oddly, the last seems most commonly remembered: "Here comes Jeremy, the bottomless pit," they say.

I'm tall and slim. Or, if I'm among tall people, I'm noticed for saying something entirely unexpected, such as the etymology of the now-dead word "Gardyloo!"
(For the curious, it means, "Look out below, I'm emptying my chamber-pot!")

I love Terry Pratchett's work. His college roommate Niel Gaiman is also a lot of fun to read. In the past 3 weeks I've read:
So Long and Thanks for All the Fish, Young Zaphod Plays It Safe, and Mostly Harmless, by Douglas Adams,
Howl's Moving Castle, by Diana Wynne Jones,
Dragons of a Fallen Sun, by Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman,
Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, by Susanna Clarke,
Wintersmith, by Terry Pratchett,
Me Talk Pretty One Day, by David Sedaris,
and the nigh-unreadable first five chapters of the never-to-be-published novel John Doe's Story, by me in my first year of college. Sometimes, I didn't bother to compose complete sentences. Ugh!

Movies...I like Hayao Miyazaki's works, and look eagerly forward to the release of Satoshi Kon's Paprika. I'm a bit of an anime fan, I guess. It's kind of sad to me that there are so few fantasy movies worth seeing. Directors are too easily seduced by glitz, I think. I saw Hot Fuzz recently. That's bloody brilliant.

A proper bridge: I liked Mirrormask, and I liked its soundtrack.

I'm a sucker for jigs; fast north-European dance music, particularly if it's old, goes over well just about always. Others include Voltaire, Ayumi Hamasaki, QNTAL, the music of Cirque De Soliel...I like music that's fast and complicated the best, though I appreciate most kinds.

While I can down seven plates of food at a sitting (which, according to Epcot Center, makes me a Viking), I tend to like lighter foods unless the intention is "See how much I can consume." Specific foods include sushi, fresh mozzerella/basil/tomato, dark chocolate (pure enough to melt at room temperature, if you have it), garlic (and several of the dishes it goes well with), hot tea (despite my locale, sweet tea and iced tea have never sat well with me).

Apparently "food, water, and shelter" all count as cheating. I could possibly get away with leaving food on, but I'm not actually a great lover of foods. I'm a decent but not exceptional cook, and don't bear particularly discriminating tastes.

So. Six things other than physical necessities I really enjoy in my life:

Music. Not constant, mind, but at least some melody every week or it begins to bubble in my head. Only by influx do I prevent myself from compulsive composure. You'd think that would be great, but trust me: I'm not that good at it.

Cleanliness. This is halfway to cheating, perhaps, but I find I do absolutely everything better when I'm totally clean. I could survive physically without cleanliness, doing the whole "once a week" bachelor thing, but I'd be completely miserable. The same goes for my surroundings; my former roommate got away with not cleaning up after himself sometimes, because I couldn't stand his plates just sitting out until he got home so I'd clean them up for him.

Writing. I feel no need to highlight it again. This is my favorite of all activities, in which I take the things I have learned and the best of my experience and I make something yet better of them. What's not to like?

Spiffy gadgets and signs of intelligent tech advancement, such as the Tesla Roadster. Go look it up; they gather Awesome Sauce, and pour it into a car-shaped mold.

Humor. The world has a tendency not to make any sense. We have to have some way of coping. Laughter works well, but feels a little awkward or forced without humor preceding it, don'cha know.

Companionship, of some kind. I mean, if that's not a requirement for me, what the heck am I doing here?

What's next? I think this when I quit my job, when I sit to write, when I got into a relationship, as it proceeded, and when it ended. I'm told writers live in perpetual wonderment.
While my walk to the bus stop doesn't tend to inspire awe, I do at least spend a good deal of it wondering.

Writing, unless a friend invites me out for something.

I have three mothers. All of them are presently married. My father is not a polygamist.

...apparently, my "private thing" is a logic puzzle/math test?

you want to.

you're curious.

you're interested.

you're not out for sex as an end in and of itself.

you'd like someone to tell you a story.

As a point of record, I have told a story of some kind to EVERY person who has contacted me here.