1. Likely to change, especially due to caprice, irresolution, or instability; casually changeable: fickleweather.
2. Not constant or loyal in affections: a fickle lover.
Here are some conclusions I’ve reached about myself:
I’m finding I am a very fickle person. Sometimes it’s difficult growing up and realizing you’re not exactly the person you’ve always perceived, but a much more flawed and frustrating version of that person.
I’ve also looked up the definition of bipolar disorder frequently and took a self test earlier today. Turns out I have “moderate to severe” symptoms. But who can trust such online quizes anyway? Because when you look up such a quiz, you probably suspect you have it and probably unconsciously exaggerate your answers a bit.
I’m glad I wasn’t a psychology major.
We all hide parts of ourselves, the trick is to uncover as much as we can – which is a very slow and grueling process, especially if you’re an introvert.
As Charlie Westerman says, “Open people open people.”
I enjoy being mysterious.
And throwing people off balance. (Figuratively of course)
I do not enjoy calling people and the less I text, the happier I am. I apologize to those of you who that may effect, and obviously I do enjoy both of those things sometimes and find them useful, but I’m starting to consider my cell phone as more of a landline that I use and answer only when I’m good and ready. Is that selfish? I doubt it. I want to start writing more letters though, so how’s that sound?
Sometimes I am extremely optimistic, other times I am equally pessimistic if not more so.
The simplest decisions overwhelm me. I think that’s why I am at times ridiculously passive and willing to let others make my decisions for me, or attach myself to others and follow the crowd, and why I would be a terrible leader or business man, or anything like that.
It’s also why I hate going into grocery stores. There are too many effing choices.
And if I’m shopping for something and the person trying to sell me whatever it is I’m trying to buy, the more options they give and the more explanations they give of those options, the more I want to bury my head in the dirt.
It often takes me half a day to process a simple question I’ve been asked. Or at least until after the conversation has ended.
Occasionally I still listen to bands like Underoath and Maylene and the Sons of Disaster.
About four or five months after my Senior Seminar midterm, I thought of a really good essay to write about.
Typically, I didn’t talk unless I was called on in my college classes.
I’ve gotten really good at pretending I know what people are saying, when really I often only catch about half the conversation.
I’m kind of a coward. That’s probably why I’m a writer and not an activist.
I don’t know shit about cars.
There are a lot of times I make stupid jokes that don’t sound like jokes, so people don’t take them as jokes, and I never let them know they are in fact jokes.
Sometimes talking at all seems like a chore.
Writing this post has caused me to burst out in laughter several times.
I sympathize most with crazy people.
But, don’t worry, my mission in life is to find hope and I will never quit. You know why? Because I believe there is a God. Sue me.