1. No one is ever really sure if you like them.
You don’t actually
hate most people. But a good majority of the people you meet are left
with that initial impression. They walk away wondering if they said
something to offend, when really you were just being your perfectly
diplomatic self, and not coating every thought in a syrupy layer of
false flattery. Or at least, that’s how you choose to view it.
2. You are very picky about how you are touched.
You just seem to have an extremely finite tolerance for
physical contact, and can easily be rubbed the wrong way, at which point
your whole body will shut down and grow a shiny coat of invisible
prickles which repel human touch from every direction. Unless said
person is sexy and you are interested in them, in which case, you are
just here to be petted for hours on end.
3. You are at your nicest when there is free food.
It’s magical. You are radiating your usual stink lines of reservation
and judgment, when all of a sudden someone even passingly mention
something that sounds like a food, and you transformed into a beauty
pageant contestant. There are going to be fresh donuts. Cupcakes. Subs
from the deli downstairs. Hell, a bowl with a can of Pringles emptied
into it and a two-liter of Sprite. It’s all good. There is food coming,
and you can sense it, and you’re not going to have to pay for it — this
is the best life is ever going to get.
4. You frequently change your mind for no apparent reason.
You are really digging this bar! Your vibe is most definitely on, and
you are feeling these grooves! What cool people you are surrounded by!
Oh, wait, nope, you hate society in general and you particularly hate
this stupid bar with these unfortunate people. You must retreat to your
apartment post haste to complain about it on the internet from the
security of your crumb-laden blanket. Sorry. (Not sorry.)
5. Your favorite activity is sleeping.
To be honest, you’re not even that embarrassed to admit it. When you
think about all of the awesome things you’re going to do this upcoming
weekend, the top spot on your list is always clearly reserved for
sprawling out on your bed like a pajama-clad skydiver and not moving for
upwards of 12 hours at a time. You’re gonna just fall asleep whenever
the fuck you want and chill out in the sun until you wake up all
disoriented, only to go to sleep three hours later if you so choose. It
is your greatest vice, and your sweetest lover. And if you’re such a
dickweasel throughout the work week, it’s because you are being deprived
your sweet nectar of the narcoleptics. It’s not your fault, you just
wanna chill out in the fetal position for a while.
Culled from thought catalogue
