If you haven't read the first one (because, why would you? unless you're stalking me) then you can get it here --> Ms J Bog and Review
Though this one will have no Spike gifs and more introspection. Boring, I know. Before you read further please note, I'm not trying to be mean. I've been told that I speak/write aggressively. *shrug* In my head, I'm just being precise.
So... here we go.
Perhaps you've noticed (I'm only addressing your notice to be polite. because I know the likelihood of that is zip. unless, again, you're stalking me *waves*) that we (me, Laura, Kellcie, Jo, etc--basically anyone with an alter ego on Sherlock) talk about our Myers Briggs personality types like it's a real thing. To us it is. If you don't get into all that, that's totally fine, I don't hate. But it's made the way my brain functions so much easier for me to cope with. Because I'm weird, I've always been weird, and it turns out there's actually nothing wrong with me (har har, laugh it up).
I don't want to bore you with all of the details of how I got to the conclusions that I have. Especially if you don't find it even kind of interesting. If you're curious about my super weird and abrasive personality type (INTJ), you can go here to get a good overview --> http://personalityjunkie.com/the-intj/ But it's not required reading and there will be no test at the end.
What I want to write about today is a small section of my head that most of you (stalkers included) don't know about. The part where I notice everything. Especially if it doesn't belong to you.
Let me explain.
I like people. I like how everyone is different. We're a product of our personalities, our hearts, souls, experiences, geography, perceptions, etc. No two people are exactly alike. And they shouldn't be, for Pete's sake! My brain picks up on the nuanced differences. The similarities are obvious for obvious reasons, but the things that set us apart are what make us true works of art. I've been doing it for as long as I can remember. The way people pronounce certain words, their eyes when they talk about different subjects, their posture, the rate, frequency, and intensity of their laugh, their million different smiles, frowns and blank stares.
I really like people. I really like honest people. I'm not saying that I like it when people spew about their own contrived self-importance because, to them, that's being honest. What I'm talking about is the honesty of their living. Their expressions are their own, not borrowed from someone else.
Because there are far too many scavengers out there. Maybe you think you're getting away with it. Maybe you think no one notices that you pick through the flesh and muscle of real people, tear out what you wish were yours and wear it like the Reavers in Firefly. Yo might be fooling a lot of people. But you are not fooling me.
Going back up to what I said earlier. I notice everything. I don't always point it out (read:never) because I've known enough people like you to know that it would be a waste of time. You're going to get defensive and dramatic and then roll over and play victim until I "stop picking on you."
But... I. Notice.
You're not fooling me. Which is why you're boring to me. Because you're a knock-off. Like gears grinding in protest, I hear the painful way the bits and pieces don't fit together. People have a flow, they have a unique energy about them. It can be confident, cunning, dangerous, insecure even. But it belongs to them. You feel like someone wearing eight different Halloween costumes on Easter and still begging for candy. You. Don't. Flow.
When I'm talking to someone who is honest about who they are, I feel it. It's warm, and soothing. It feels natural and mysterious and exciting. They pull me into their rare and beautiful undertow and I'm... enchanted.
About 10 years ago, Cap and I were dating. He was out of town with a couple of friends at the Voo Doo Musical Festival in New Orleans. I was on my own that weekend. Working, as usual. One of his roommates, we'll can call him John for lack of better name, stopped by my work and asked if I wanted to hangout that night.
John was weird. He freaked people out. He made inappropriate jokes and deliberately started fights with people becuase he thought it was funny.
I probably didn't fit with the type of people he normally hung out with.
So obviously I said yes.
We sat in the living room of their house in candlelight and played chess for a few hours while drinking beer. The lights weren't on because they didn't like paying the light bill. So candles it was.
We talked about everything. The posters on the living room wall would probably make another girl uncomfortable. He pointed that out. I hadn't noticed. We then talked about each poster and what it represented and how it made us feel. It was strange. (If you would like to know what the posters were, private message me. this is a family blog)
It was awesome.
It was a connection that was new and interesting and amazing. John frightened me sometimes with his explosive anger. He had a tendency to overreact. He fell in love too fast and too hard. He was a hypocrite who was fine with that trait. He was also always, always, sweet to me. Careful, even.
John was honest. Sometimes totally messed up, but honest. And he's still one of my favorite people to this day. Even if he has pissed off everyone else who loved him and burned those bridges.
Maybe it's just the latent punk rocker in me. I applaud individuality. Be yourself, no one is going to do it better. Even if it's weird and people don't respond well. Chances are I'm gonna love the heck out of you.
However, if you're putting on pieces of people like it's your new cardigan, chances are you're going to piss me off. Chances are I'm going to avoid you.
I especially notice if you've attempted to steal bits of myself. Because guess who knows herself pretty well? You can blame the Ni. So when you start putting on bits of me, I see that too. Big time.
And trust me, you are not rocking it.