Second and hindmost: I've looked at my pictures, and they're all old. Ooooollld. Like me! I'm practically catfishing all you people I don't want to meet anyway.
There are a lot of words in this thing, but it's okay, just take it one paragraph at a time and we'll get through it together. Or you'll move on. Either way, I'm cool if you're cool.
I've resisted giving a self-summary, but an outside appraisal of my Personality section may lead visitors to believe I am (in relation to other OKCupidites) an amoral, horndog prick.
Such an impression may be true, but would be unleavened by other, finer qualities, such as my humor and openness; also, I can spell words and donate generously to the humane society. Okay, that last bit was a lie, but I do like animals.
Some days, I feel like I'm defined by the people around me. Like I'm a blank space whose borders become tangible only upon contact with other persons. How much I like or loathe them; which tasks are forced upon me by contact with them; they blink and my past is fixed and another frame of me begins. Other days, I am the pure sophist, my mind refusing to countenance the existence of beings outside its scope of self-reflection. Most days, though, I spectate.
To thine own self be summarized.
Aside from that, my commitment to the U.S. Army is over. Now what? My life is essentially a blank slate. Go back to school? Explore the world? Hire on as a mercenary to a globe-spanning security firm? All these are options, I guess, but I just don't know.
I think, ultimately, I'd like to live on a boat. Just survive and thrive off the mercury saturated bounty of the seas. Draw a little comic about my adventures. Do simple stuff, clean, no moral ambiguity.
Of course, I'm not DOING that. I came back and my family conscripted me in their war against entropy and the tax man. It's tough, but I'm learning a lot and if there's anybody who can do this job it's--GIVE ME THEIR NUMBER.
Kidding. I'll be all right.
That's actually a thing: I really wouldn't mind getting to know somebody simply for their outdoorsiness. Totes down for a platonic weekend hiking and eventually camping buddy. Honestly!
I am Not So Good at people or relating to them, sometimes.
Drop the zen, drop the mic.
All right. The authors currently chilling in my Nook are:
Cormac McCarthy, Charles Portis, Neal Stephenson, Orson Scott Card, China Mieville, and T.H. White. Plus one or two I've either forgotten for the moment or am just not listing for the sake of mild embarrassment.
Like Lee Child, for instance.
Also: everything steampunk sucks, and you can shove those goggles up your ass.
Let me follow up on that moment of stark judgmentalism with a remark showing an area in which I'm NOT a snide and contemptuous prick: bathroom selfies. I know it's generally considered uncouth to take them, but nuts to that. You wanna stand there and make a face in the mirror with your phone in your hand? Go for it. Maybe the problem lies with people who narcissistically collect photos of themselves every god damn where they go, did you think of that? You know what you AREN'T doing when you take a bathroom selfie? You aren't pissing off that poor bastard who just wants to sit down and have a meal in a poorly lit restaurant and berate himself over the day's missed opportunities for making real human connection, and really REALLY doesn't need flashes going off every five minutes to remind him that other people have people to take pictures of them and be happy. You don't want to piss that guy off, because that's the guy in the room who's closest to snapping and making regrettable decisions, like for instance sailing the soup tureen across the short distance between tables and ruining everybody's day with a good two cups of scalding hot, way-too-expensive clam chowder.
So, yeah. Bathroom selfies! Not really that bad, considering all the alternatives.
How I missed Burning Man. Like, missed it in its entirety, in the years when it was something special, a peaen, orgiastic in calling down the blowflies and screw-worms to the carcass of American hegemony. Now that it's where the talentless one percenter scumfucks go to hold court over their artisan serfs, I don't want anything to do with it. I missed Burning Man. I'll never know.
I also think about nice things, like water lilies and pubic tufts.
Not creepy at all, I know.
I find bullfighting distasteful, but I will always root for the bull.
I use OKCupid mainly from my phone, and the app has a history of showing mobile users online even when closed. Due to this, I'm often perversely worried that if I exit the app straight from somebody's profile, they may get the idea that I'm visiting their profile for hours on end, obsessively poring over every detail and question until I feel I can absorb the person's soul into my own, I know them so well.
I'm not doing that. Honest.
Ha! The longer I don't care who this profile attracts, the meaner it gets. I'm sorry. But you know those people who start this essay with, "You really shouldn't message me"? You shouldn't. I'm not being ironic or coy, I'm just not interested in anything right now. Not ANYthing anything, I'm not depressive. I've just got better things to do right now than meet people and uncover their souls, their hopes and aspirations, their vaginae.
If we're less than an 85% match, I likely won't initiate messaging. If we're higher than an 85% match, I . . . likely won't initiate messaging. One of the problems with INTPs, I think (and no, I'm not some weird "type" fascist, it's just a casual observation), is that we look a lot more vibrant and colorful on paper. We've a rich inner world and we're good at expressing it via media like this, but in person it's typically wrapped up in an aloof and silently smirking shell. Basically, that means places like OKCupid play hell with my initiative, and I really, really like window shopping humanity. I'm not asking you to pull me out of my comfort zone, that's my job. But I gladly accept and try to respond to all messages. Even the ones I know will lead nowhere.
And once in a great, greeeaaaat while, I'll message you. Or you! Or maybe even--oh, who am I kidding? We all know it won't be YOU.
If you believe the above made me seem arrogant, I understand and acknowledge your concerns. I'd like to thank you for reading this, and I hope you have a GREAT day.
P.S. -- I'm not sorry.