September 13, 2011

As for personality tests and spaghetti

I've alway had this fascination with personality tests. Maybe it's self-obsession, but I'd like to think it's more the intrigue of reading a description of yourself or someone else and seeing it totally match them/yourself. In my experience in taking personality tests and reading others' results, they tend to be eerily accurate. Isn't it strange that we all see each other as individuals and as having our own unique attitudes towards life and how we conduct ourselves, and yet we nearly all fit pretty well into the 16 Jung personality types? Obviously I realize just because you have the same disposition as someone doesn't mean you'll have the same fate or lead the same life, but the idea of sharing personal tendencies and viewpoints with an entire population is pretty cool. Last night I had a friend take this test and reading their result...I might as well have been describing them. Ever since 6th grade I've without fail gotten INFJ; some descriptions I find more accurate than others, but at least I'm consistent!

Tonight I had tagliatelle for the first time. It was ridiculous. Why would anyone ever eat any other type of pasta. It's beautiful. But MORE IMPORTANTLY I spent 4 hours at the cafe this afternoon. It was comforting, kind of like therapy. I always need a certain amount of time in solitude and my time at the cafe has pretty much become synonymous with that. I hadn't really chilled there for a significant amount of time for about a week and I was going into withdrawal (I was going to say just like Amy Winehouse, but it's way too soon and if I say it in parentheses it has less impact...right?).

Saturday morning from my front porch
It needs to be cold cardigans are ready. I'm feeling comfy and frumpy - why is it still 80 degrees?! But the mornings are wonderfully crisp, my favorite. Saturday my alarm accidentally went off at 6am...woops. But I was just in time to catch this lovely sunrise - imagine me on my front porch in an a t-shirt, boxers, and my glasses looking like a fool taking pictures of the sunrise. Yup. That happened.

I felt like burying myself in comforters all day. Getting home late and having to function unfortunately don't go too well together. Those functions are discontinuous and I am where f(c) does not exist. Bah. That's how I feel when I'm tired. Unfortunately, I guess this also means that the barrier between my Calculus language and my vocabulary used to describe emotion has deteriorated. Domage. Ok, French too.

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