No, I’m really not this conceited. That’s a Rarasaur Nano Poblano prompt. Since I actually lean more towards self-deprecation, today, we’re going to talk about how awesome I am for a change.
10. My pets.
Yeah, I know this one is pretty indirect, but I swear, having animals has made me a better person. It’s hard to be a complete asshole when you have another life you are responsible for. Well, unless you are one of those complete assholes who neglects, abuses or trains animals to kill, but I’m not one of those complete assholes. My pets love me.
Not to toot my own horn (although I guess that’s what this post is all about), but my vocabulary is pretty smokin’ (and yet, of all words, I chose to use smokin’). I know a lot of words and I enjoy using them. I don’t collect stamps or coins or Star Wars memorabilia; I collect words. I rummage around in the basement and find oddities. I whip them out from time to time to confuse people. I love confusing people.
Someone called me an autodidact once and I had no idea what it meant. I had to look it up: self-taught. Since that awkward moment where I discovered that my autodidactism wasn’t complete enough to include the word autodidact, I’ve remembered that word.
I used to be pretty smart, but that was before a traumatic head injury put the death knell on my smarts. I’m still relatively smart, but I’m smart like Swiss cheese. There are pockets of smart that are all stuck together the way they’re supposed to be, but there are holes scattered throughout. I have holes in my brain, or more precisely, lots of my neural pathways have been severed. It’s all completely random.
Everything I’ve learned since my head went boom is self-taught. I am constantly learning new things because I really enjoy learning new things. If I ever stop learning new things, I might as well stop living altogether.
I read a lot. I used to be a book snob. I wouldn’t read anything unless it was at least fifty years old. I figured that, if a book was still bandied about after fifty years, it was probably worth reading. Fifty years was enough time to cut out the chaff.
Honestly, even though that’s a stupid, teenage, poncy outlook, it did have a sense of logic to it. As a teen, not having read much, I had to start somewhere and the classics are a good place to start. I’ve since relaxed that rule, because its dumb. I read all sorts of things now except for romance novels and most books on best seller lists. I can’t help the best seller avoidance. I’m just contrary enough to not want to read things that everyone else reads.
6. Music -> visual synesthesia
I am one of only a handful of people in the entire world that sees music as pattern, movement and color. I tried to describe it here. I am unique. The few people I have met who have music -> visual synesthesia, typically only see music as color. I see it as three-dimensional moving art.
I’ve tried to capture it on canvas before, but it’s like trying to capture an entire opera in one snapshot. Since it’s such a big story that’s constantly moving, changing and growing, it’s impossible to sum up in only one picture. If someone with no knowledge of La Boheme looked at the snapshot you chose for it, they wouldn’t understand the story and they’d be missing out completely on the audio part of it, which is really what opera is all about. I wish I could describe it better.
5. Excellent friends
Somehow, I have managed to surround myself with a gaggle of awesome friends. They are funny, supportive, intelligent, challenging and sometimes a pain in the ass. Your friends say a lot about you. Judging by the caliber of my friends, I must be totally awesome. And that goes for all of my blogger friends, too.
4. Creative stuff
I can’t carry a tune. I don’t know how to play the violin. I still haven’t ever managed to write an entire novel. I can’t plié, pirouette or do this:
But, I can draw the shit out of a cute crab and I can flash fiction like mad. I can drop you into the middle of a story already in progress, and with just a few hundred words, give you a sense of what’s happening and what might happen without actually telling you how it ends. I love writing those little slice of life vignettes. I’d love to put together a flash fiction book; Goldfish’s Big Book Of Tiny Stories or something. I suppose, in order to do that, I’d have to write more flash fiction. I should do that.
3. Writey business
I fancy myself a pretty good blogger, too. I can certainly tell an entertaining story. I can regale you with all the embarrassing things I’ve done like a pro. I think some of you actually enjoy reading my antics and I enjoy writing them. Sometimes, I can reach way down deep into the blackness of my soul and pull out something that I didn’t even know was there. I am ever so grateful that I was born in an era where blogging is a thing because my writing skills are perfect for blogging. I may not ever finish that novel, but I can rock the hell out of a blog.
2. Survivor, dammit
I am, somehow, still alive. Through meningitis, sexual abuse, domestic violence, homelessness, drug and alcohol abuse, depression, prostitution and every other awful thing others have done to me and that I’ve done to myself, I am still here and I don’t intend to go anywhere. I am a mother-effin’ survivor and I want to take my experiences and use them for good. I want to help others going through what I’ve gone through. I’m still not at a place where I can do that yet, but I’ll get there.
1. Funny business
I don’t know about you, but I love my sense of humor. It’s lightning fast and clever. It’s understated and sarcastic as hell. It never lets me take things too seriously nor does it let me get too down on myself. My sense of humor has survived the same awful things I have, yet, it is still as sleek as ever. It’s not tarnished or dull. My sense of humor rocks.
I can’t believe I managed to come up with ten things. I thought for sure I’d get stuck around four things. I tend to be pretty hard on myself even though I don’t want to be, so I think this was a good exercise. Thanks for not beating me over the head with a fish for displaying such hubris. It probably won’t happen again.