Sunday, 26 January 2014


I was thinking recently about something that a friend said to me a while ago. He said I was one of the only people he knew that he felt like he wouldn't be surprised by anything I said. He basically said that whether I said I was a secret axe murderer or a white witch or a Mexican wrestler none of that would surprise him.
It was only upon reflection that I realised I am actually extremely complimented by this. It felt, in some small way, like someone was acknowledging my infinite potential to be or do anything-that I was a person who had the capacity to be odder or bolder or more different to how I might immediately appear. I'm actually pretty delighted to think of it.
I have always had a degree of pride in my oddness. What I lack in body confidence or ability to flirt I make up for in bizarre personality traits and hobbies and an immature sense of humour. I sometimes worry I will never stop being the wild-card girlfriend to more normal guys but I like at least that it makes me memorable. I feel that people appreciate my oddness and my ability to own it, but sometimes don't realise just how normal I am underneath. I still want a lot of the same things, I still want people to see how really am, not just the quirks that they think define me.
To know that anyone out there thinks that I might be capable of anything means that there is someone who realises how you cannot really know a person, however much they might seem to wear their personality on their sleeve. Perhaps that's why I liked it so much. To know that someone, without even trying to get me, or even meaning to, kind of just perfectly did.

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