The strangest and most unexpected thing is happening to me. I’ve never spent any amount of time actually writing about my life. I never kept a diary (something to do, I’m certain, with the lettering of the chromosomes which established my gender), was never even good at keeping ‘activity logs’ or ‘symptom logs’, despite repeated counsel from medical teams in 3 provinces to do so (and that they might make me better able to adjust to life this way). It was something not even remotely resembling anything that ever I saw myself doing. I never wanted to quantify, qualify, and record everything I did in a day in some strange attempt to discover a formula for optimizing myself. Fuck that. It’s way too much work and, realistically, I’m way too lazy to begin and maintain anything at all like that. I have no problems admitting it – I’m a lazy person. I hate to see that evidenced in my work, and consequently often find myself ‘going-the-extra-mile’ for colleagues/clients, perhaps even the odd thing I do for other people, but if it’s something for me and me alone, there’s a high to really-high probability that I will find the easiest and least time-consuming way of doing it. This is not to be confused with ‘efficiency’, a practice I employ when someone else is paying me. This is simply pure, unadulterated laziness. How many of us can say they don’t kind-of-sort-of do the same thing?
This ‘interesting’ thing happening to me, though, is that I’m getting a 3rd person point-of-view of myself. It’s neat – it’s almost as if I’m a character in a novel. A really boring novel, but you know what I mean, right? Ok, I suppose ‘interesting’, aside from being intensely subjective, is at the very least arguable. But that narcissistic side of me keeps wandering back and reading these posts over, and one thing I’ve noticed is this: I’m a pretty uninteresting person. Don’t take this the wrong way, please. This is not some self-deprecating, passive-aggressive way of gaining sympathy for any reading this. I’m alright with being lazy. I think maybe there’d be more ‘shiny-ball-of-happy’ people out there if we could all just be honest with ourselves and, every now and then, embrace laziness. Use me as evidence that it does both the body and mind a degree of good.
So what have we established? That I think of myself as a character in a really boring novel. I know, I know, what good is that, you ask.
How many novels have you starred in?