The Master Plan
Unlike most people my age, who are still trying to figure out the basics of life (ie: what they want to be when they grow up, their favorite color, their gender, etc.), I have a Plan. The Plan is a masterpiece of evil genius, guaranteed to make me immortal in the minds of men. It goes like this:
Step one: Write a novel.
The novel will be a complex, involved, and impossibly deep work of intense symbolism, requiring more education than is humanly possible to truly understand. Generations of schoolchildren will be forced to read it, cursing my name with every convoluted, long-winded paragraph, while their teachers ramble on and on about the brilliancy and subtlety of the plot, desperately trying to cover the fact that they have no idea what they're talking about; wannabe intellectuals will claim that it's their favorite book and they read it for fun on weekends; English majors will adore it because they can write anything they want about it and no one can tell them they're wrong.
Step two: Die an early, tragic death.
Preferably, this will be the result of a wasting illness of the variety commonly seen in cheesy Hollywood movies - you know, the ones where the patient is perfectly healthy except for the white makeup and foundation smeared all over their lips, and the delicate tremble in their voices. Also, there should be no needles or pain involved, because I am a total wuss and needles make me pass out like some kind of swooning Victorian drama queen.
Anyway, dying will make my book even more popular than it already was, with the added bonus of having everyone in the literary world moan sadly about how I was such a prodigy, so much potential, such a shame I died before I could truly realize it, ad nauseam. Papers and books will be written about how mysterious and tragic I was. It'll be beautiful.
But you'll never be able to prove it was me.
Random factoids
I start everything and never finish any of it.
I deny any compliments, but don't be fooled; flattery is the key to my heart, even if I know perfectly well that you're lying through your teeth. And don't think I don't know, either.
Shoes oppress me. I believe in freedom of feet; feet should be naked at all times. Or at least the toes should. My toes are always liberated.
I pretend to be one of those snobby intellectuals who reads (and understands) Ayn Rand and cares about the fate of the world, but it's all a big sham. I'm a lemming with all the depth and emotional complexity of a cotton ball. Also, I really hate Ayn Rand.
My nail-polish is always mis-matched, and usually chipped halfway off. I like it that way.
I love everybody. I trust the whole world, and make excuses for all manner of bad behavior. Take advantage of me! It's easy! I love you!
I am a substandard girl. My underwear is boring, my jeans all have holes in them, I don't wear makeup, and if you leave me alone for five minutes I will change into pajama pants faster'n a bunny on speed. Also, my pajama pants run heavy to pink. With frogs and cherries and hearts. Have no fear, at some point you're bound to see them.
I curse a lot...but it's always really cute!
I have an olfactory obsession. Things Must Smell Good. And things that smell good must be sniffed. Repeatedly. A really good perfume can send me into a nearly narcotic state of bliss. I'm really fun to take out in public.
Only 50% of this blurb is remotely related to anything resembling reality. Your guess is as good as mine regarding which.
and sometimes when you're on
you're really fucking on
and your friends all sing along and they love you
but the lows are so extreme
that the good seems fucking cheap
and it teases you for weeks in its absence
but you'll fight and you'll make it through
you'll fake it if you have to
you'll show up for work with a smile
you'll be better and you'll be smarter
more grown up and a better daughter
or son and a real good friend
you'll be awake, you'll be alert
you'll be positive, though it hurts
Song lyrics make my world go 'round.
Well, song lyrics and other things. Lots of other things.
Okay, so song lyrics make my world dance around a little bit, while other things cause it to rotate. Shut up.
