I’ve been thinking a lot about my hair lately. Just kidding, I’ve mostly been watching British talk shows on YouTube. I also went to Lithuania for a week to have the flu, it was mind broadening and cold, and I don’t think they’ve heard about seasoning, spices or vegetarians. If I see another boiled squash or aubergine in 2017 I’ll throw it out of the open window while speeding down the road in the car I don’t have, speeding because I am running from the police because of the drivers license I don’t have either.
My main new years resolution this year is to swap cow milk for soy, rice or oat milk. Ah, my lustrous life of soaring ambition!
I also took a proper look at my feet for the first time since last summer and realised that I am probably the most single woman I have ever met. I haven’t shaved my legs since August last year, so it’s not the sexy and adventurous type of single either. More the staying a home knitting hats and fuming at Trump kind of single.
But that’s all fine because I have all of this time to myself now. Time to properly wash my coffee mugs, not just rinse them, time to take online questionnaires and time to experiment with how long I have to go without washing by hair before I can make it stand up straight without any product.
I actually really enjoy being alone, because at any point in time I have so many people in my head that it feels like I’m in a televised panel show about odd stuff 24/7 anyway, so factoring in large portions of real people too would just make me confused and probably quite bewildered looking.
People tend to assume that introverts are just lonely. And with people I mean extroverts, because when extroverts die and go to hell (we’re all going to hell, heaven is way too strict for modern society, nobody qualifies. It’s empty except for probably one guy who just walks around trying to learn the harp and wondering where the good party’s at) their version will probably be a completely deserted flat somewhere, with no internet connection and no people to talk at.
My sister is an extrovert, and she’s been trying to understand where I come from. She went as far as having to ask me directly if I was happy being alone or if I was depressed or just lonely. For her, the way I live (mostly in front of my laptop, reading or writing) seems like some sort of punishment or psychological disorder. For me, being with people all of the time would probably lead to some sort of psychological disorder.
It’s interesting how vastly different people are on the inside. I feel that there is way too much focus on the physical differences people have, when all of the relevant stuff really happens on the inside (cardiovascular..ly, emotionally, potential serial killer…y and so on and so forth).
Whether a person is tall, short, black, white or orange (hisss) doesn’t really tell you if they cry when they watch August Rush or if they secretly think that babies are gross and creepy looking. To a certain extent we have shaped a society where you express your insides via your outside, so that it is technically possible to read parts of a person from what sort of trousers/piercings/hairdo/make up they wear, but those things are unreliable at best. I mean, I have a septum piercing, but I’ve never beat up a policeman or gained a massive following on Instagram. I also have really big boobs that sort of just came with my body but has nothing at all in common with my personality. If my looks properly reflected my mind I would probably be the sci-fi and fantasy section in Waterstones (the big one in Piccadilly Circus) or some sort of interesting seasonal virus.
I don’t even remember how this post started to be honest, and I’m too lazy to read through the whole thing. Hopefully you weren’t.
Note to add: I looked in the mirror yesterday and realised that I have very attractive ears. Like, I would totally not change a thing about them. That’s nice I guess.