I think I have restless-being syndrome.
I make lots of lists of stuff to do, but don't get too upset if nothing gets done. I like ink. Pen and ink drawings and actual letters in envelopes and inky tattoos. I need to get more of those. That goes on the list. Oh, and I like the smell of books, especially old library books. And leaves! And coffee! And soap!
What else? I am an absolute bastard for a long walk with a beer and a chat at the end. Or picking up a book from the big stack that is supposed to get read and getting lost for a few hours. Or having a conversation that ends up being about so many things that you forget what started it.
Whenever I am in that two-people-trying-to-get-by-each-other-in-a-hallway thing, I always pick the wrong way to go. In related news, I can't tell my right from my left without a little bit of thought. It goes without saying that I am colossally inept at everything mechanical ever.
Gah! In general, I am a complete spazz, but hopefully in an endearing way, not in an I'm-going-to-kill-you kind of way.