I accept your challenge.
I like writing. Some people may find it odd that I would say this - after all, I find odd that I would say this. Strange, but true. I enjoy writing, but don’t like wasting time. This isn’t to say that writing is a waste of time; my concept of “time well spent” is more than a bit skewed. Ironically enough, expounding on this requires a bit of time itself.
I like formula. Not the mathematical type, I’m horrible with numbers (I often have a hard time remembering how old I am). I like when things can be laid out, followed, and understood. To be honest, I wonder why all things can’t be that way. Do you think I’m intelligent because I can solve a Rubik’s cube? That’s ridiculous, trust me - unless you think following directions makes you intelligent, in which case I find your view of intelligence quite peculiar. But that’s exactly what I love about Rubik’s cube; I can follow an ordered, structured set of steps and get a result. Not only do I find it comforting, but I can gloat in the process. So what’s the shorthand of this blathering?
I like parsimony. Finding a label for this was comforting - at the very least, I’m not the only one that thinks this way: The simplest answer is the best; and so even in answering the “prompt” for this slight rant, I have trouble finding more than a one word answer. Hence this mess of words that may or may not form coherent thoughts.
I like competing. I love winning. I live to be recognized for it. You know those people that turn everything into a competition? The ones that say “I bet I can eat this sandwich faster than you can?” Yeah, I was one of those kids. Now, the only thing that stops me from saying that is that I can’t trust the sandwich race is properly regulated - sandwiches are all different and so it can’t be fair to compare the consumption of one to the consumption to another, can it? That, right there, delves into another horrible aspect of my competiveness - I compete with myself too.
I like organizing - I feel like when I organize, I win some competition with myself or maybe with entropy… whatever the case is, it’s a victory - I set a goal at the beginning (straighten this desk) and by the end, I’ve met it (that desk makes some sense now).
I like using my time wisely - the only reason I could bring myself to write this is that I felt I now had a goal - to explain how I verify my existence to myself. Put parsimoniously: I do so through other people. I’m not one who easily finds meaning in myself; it’s why I organize: if I leave an area in a state or order when I leave, someone realizes I’ve been there; it’s why I compete: if I play and win, people remember me and I know I’m here; it’s why I follow formulas: if I can mesh with reality it means I’m a part of it; it’s why I write: if someone reads this, someone has heard me.
I would like it to be known that none of this addressed the issues I’ve been meaning to flesh out. Someday.
I like formula. Not the mathematical type, I’m horrible with numbers (I often have a hard time remembering how old I am). I like when things can be laid out, followed, and understood. To be honest, I wonder why all things can’t be that way. Do you think I’m intelligent because I can solve a Rubik’s cube? That’s ridiculous, trust me - unless you think following directions makes you intelligent, in which case I find your view of intelligence quite peculiar. But that’s exactly what I love about Rubik’s cube; I can follow an ordered, structured set of steps and get a result. Not only do I find it comforting, but I can gloat in the process. So what’s the shorthand of this blathering?
I like parsimony. Finding a label for this was comforting - at the very least, I’m not the only one that thinks this way: The simplest answer is the best; and so even in answering the “prompt” for this slight rant, I have trouble finding more than a one word answer. Hence this mess of words that may or may not form coherent thoughts.
I like competing. I love winning. I live to be recognized for it. You know those people that turn everything into a competition? The ones that say “I bet I can eat this sandwich faster than you can?” Yeah, I was one of those kids. Now, the only thing that stops me from saying that is that I can’t trust the sandwich race is properly regulated - sandwiches are all different and so it can’t be fair to compare the consumption of one to the consumption to another, can it? That, right there, delves into another horrible aspect of my competiveness - I compete with myself too.
I like organizing - I feel like when I organize, I win some competition with myself or maybe with entropy… whatever the case is, it’s a victory - I set a goal at the beginning (straighten this desk) and by the end, I’ve met it (that desk makes some sense now).
I like using my time wisely - the only reason I could bring myself to write this is that I felt I now had a goal - to explain how I verify my existence to myself. Put parsimoniously: I do so through other people. I’m not one who easily finds meaning in myself; it’s why I organize: if I leave an area in a state or order when I leave, someone realizes I’ve been there; it’s why I compete: if I play and win, people remember me and I know I’m here; it’s why I follow formulas: if I can mesh with reality it means I’m a part of it; it’s why I write: if someone reads this, someone has heard me.
I would like it to be known that none of this addressed the issues I’ve been meaning to flesh out. Someday.