I build lighthouses in my basement and then forget about them. I learn half-languages just to play with their glottals. I memorize old poetry so that I can write it backwards over and over again. I doodle and I dabble and I dream. I am a dilettante.
I am no stranger to regret. I act long before I think, and I feel before either. I am prone to involuntary acts of visceral empathy. I am skittish and secretive and flamboyant and posed.
I am a creature of excess, liable to losing long hours and long dollars to fruitless activities that captivate me wholly until I finally collapse. A thing done once and enjoyed is a thing that would be better done ad infinitum. I impulsively want things, and I am bad at denying myself the things that I want.
I am the eternal enemy of sleep and all of its minions. It obliterates consciousness and action and attempts to suck from me one-third of my life. This cannot be tolerated. I refuse to go gently.
I am sought with strange frequency for my late-night soul-searching, strong coffee, and judgmental advice. I throw excellent parties and enjoy the real-time strategy of social coordination. I am apparently the only person among my acquaintance who can string together a cogent sentence, and I am consequently in high demand for my editing prowess. I believe without question that I am loved, though sometimes I cannot account for why.
I will not do anything that I cannot excel at. I consider this one of my biggest flaws.
I love Russian literature, old dictionaries, long walks, longer conversations, silly gadgets, real mysteries, beautiful coincidences, dark comedies, a well-spun narrative, Diet Coke, le mot juste, the feel of ink rolling on paper, the taste of words, the last cigarette of the day, adventures, mountains, satire, and a man named Austin Gandy-- he is a piece of my puzzle that fits with effortless grace.
I always flush the toilet with my right foot. If I ever lose that foot I may just stop flushing.
My favorite part of any activity is the moment where I find the rhythm of it, the moment when I can actually feel new neural pathways sear their way into my brain, and suddenly all the motions and thoughts associated with the given process are executed in a completely natural flow. My favorite part of anything is the angle at which it can be viewed so as to reveal its elegance.
I love elegance. Even if it is for tailors.
When I grow up I want to be a tailor. The kind that writes books. But I am bad at being goal-oriented, and if I squint and turn my head to the left, I am already a grown-up. This is a source of great disappointment to me. As a child I mythologized my future adult self to the point where I believe I may have intimidated myself out of actualizing anything. At any rate, that makes a passing decent excuse.