While it might strike some as strange, my guilty-pleasure TV runs the gamut. Extant, Last Comic Standing, reruns of Sex and the City and the Golden Girls, superhero movies, and almost any cooking show.
I get around. I am sci-fi, comedy, romance, action & adventure, and sous chef-in-training in my mind.
Eclectic, I think a profiler would call me. In TV, books, music, clothing—just about everything that has categories.
A handful of contradictions color my personality too. For one, I am gregarious hermit.
Yes, there is such a thing.
In fact, I once saw an ad for a quirky adoptee cat that I thought about plugging into my online dating profile.
Wanda is very playful and social, but likes to hide in strange places and groom or stare at the moon and other bright objects. Mood swings, but lovable.
I’m like that. I play well with others. I play well alone.
For new acquaintances, this takes getting used to so I’m not immune to the confused head spins and frustrated-seeming hey-where-are-you texts when I disappear myself after major fun. It’s probably a lot like losing the internet connection when streaming a song you really like. But then I can’t say for certain since it seems perfectly natural to me to jump from one end of the social spectrum to the other and back again.
This is my flow and the need to change to a more consistent persona has not gripped me yet.
For fun, when I’m traveling or attending one-time-only events, I often introduce myself with my favorite fake name, knowing I’ll probably never see those people again. Those people who inevitably fall for friendly, fairly uninhibited Gregarious Girl (GG). Maybe, too, it’s my reminder that GG does things Hermit Girl (HG) does not and it all stays out there. She is not sustainable. But neither is reclusive HG who reigns in my social life to give me solitary time to recharge, space out, pamper, and whack out the writing.
For balance, I need them both.
Because of my own paradoxes, I don’t ask a lot of questions about anybody else’s.
Not the vegetarian who sneaks meat at BBQ’s.
Not the kindhearted librarian with road rage.
Not the shy guy who gives killer speeches.
Not the Buddhist with a gun.
Not the childlike mother.
Like me, I think they could explain their twists if given enough time, but doesn’t analyzing sometimes ruin the intrigue of those surfaces that are not always flat or homogenous and were probably never meant to be?