I know I said I was done blogging here, but I made this entry in my primary blog over at Polycat.net (my primary/personal site), so I decided to mirror this entry here, since I really liked it. Anyhoo, enjoy.

I'm feeling a bit philosophical this morning, or reflective, nostalgic, or whatever you want to call it. And, as I was on my way to work, I was thinking about my own self, my personality, my character, my "inner-being," or, once again, whatever you want to call it. While I was thinking about this, I got yelled at by a bus driver for being late, saying "I have a schedule to keep, sir!" Being that he was by far my elder, I just stared in awe, and said "Okay," in a timid, semi-vapid, voice and wondered to myself: "Since when do bus drivers talk?" But that's neither here nor there. Well, it kind of was HERE, but since "here" is only one place on the world, and "there" is the rest of the world, who am I to argue?

Anyway, I kind of picture myself as a character in some sappy romantic-comedy; the kind of guy that is always best friends with the lead girl, who not-so-secretly has feelings for her, but always loses out to the far more impressive, built, charming, and handsome guy. Yeah, that pretty much describes me. If I were to describe me in one rather adjective-filled and run-on sentence, it would probably sound a lot, if not exactly, like this: "Trent is on the low end of the average-looking spectrum, funny (mostly sardonic and goofy), only serious when he needs to be, optimistic, hard-working 80% of the time (work/personal), lazy the other 20% (school), compassionate, empthatic, considerate, reliable, semi-charming, no confidence, shy 9 times out of 10, and just a good-natured guy with big teeth." That pretty much sums it up, I think.

To begin, I'll talk about the humor, serious, and optimistic bits; I don't really have any control over how I look (aside from weight and muscle, but that's hardly a constant), so discussing that would be like discussing the personality trends of rocks over the years. It's just kind of pointless. You could always go with the "Oh, but plastic surgery is almost foolproof these days!" To which I'll respond "So is hurling yourself off the grand canyon with a bag of rocks in place of a parachute; you try that, and when you get back, we'll talk about the surgery."

I've always preferred being easy-going to being serious. Being serious isn't fun for one's self nor is it to the people in the general vicinity. The only times I've found that require me to be serious, is when you're breaking-up a relationship, consoling someone who just had a close friend or family member die, and when getting a physical. The latter is especially important; physicals are dangerous times, dangerous times indeed. Bringing laughter to people is more often than not, one of the most enjoyable things I've ever been able to do in my life. Seeing people smile, and I mean genuinely smile, not that kind fake smile that reatlors give you, is one of the best things in the world. As for optimism? Well, being pessimistic is just kind of depressing. I've been told that being pessimistic prevents someone from getting their hopes up, but 99% of the time, our hope is what keeps us going.

My hard-working nature is a direct result of how I was raised. To say I was raised in what could pass as a large interrogation room, with the occasional animal and sibling, but mostly just a lot of good cop/bad cop parenting going on would be a massive understatement akin to saying "You know, Hitler was kind of a nazi." Throughout life, my Stepdad (which, who for all intents and purposes, is my real dad) has mostly been the bad cop, while my Mom has been the good cop. Now, there was occasionally a role reversal between the two, which really screwed me up ("Like, oh my god, who am I supposed to turn to for an appeal!?"); but, for the most part, it was like that.

Anyway, getting back on the subject, and away from the endless analogies that are a trademark of my writing. My Dad has always been the kind of drill sergeant that wanted to make sure that if something was done, it was done perfectly. My Mom would occasionally provide a relief, but for the most part, if things were done, they were done as perfectly as my little human hands could handle. For instance, back in the days of my youth (Har! Sorry, I found that funny. Shut up.), I was to write a spelling-list for my 4th-grade class. My Dad once found that I made a lot of mistakes on my words, and from that day forth, I was to check the list with him whenever I thought I was done. If there was so much as a single erasure mark on the paper, it was to be re-done. At the time, I hated him for it; cursed him using a totally innocent vocabularly (My, my, how things have changed in nine-ten years), and said I'd never forgive him for such a treacherous act. Now, nine or ten years later, I find myself following a self-enforced theme for all my work. This rule applies to my entire life, except school; school has always been a kind of exception for my hard-working nature... Will that ever change? It's possible, but ultimately unlikely. The thing is, I really thank my Dad for being hard on me as a kid, as it really did pay off in the end (erm, uh, that's totally a figure of speech; God, you may be a giant Chia Pet of Doom, but don't take that to mean you should smote me with Godly Lightning at the end of the day), though I'd never admit it to his face.

As for my Mom, she is the single-biggest reason that I remain as calm and laid-back as I am today. Though work hard as I may, I rarely lose my cool, sardonic humor; no matter if I've spent the last week working endlessly without so much as a minute of sleep. In her old age (Don't hurt me), I think she finds that she can come to me whenever she's stressed out for a bit of relief; which is cool, it's a kind of payment for how she helped me while I was a wee one. I'd say "Growing Up," but I don't think there will ever be a single day in my life where I'm not growing up. Ever. In a short, though unrelated, note: I can only hope that I can be as good a parent as my parents (biological or not) were to me.

As far as being empathetic, compassionate (which sort of goes hand-in-hand with empathetic; they're just lovers like that), and considerate goes... Well, I can't really describe these ones. They're really the kind of personality traits I grew up with (not counting pre-preteen ages; they don't really count). They're all I've really ever known. My empathy can become a kind of burdon at times, and an embarassment at others. As an example of the former, there are times when all your friends/family are down, and you won't be able to help but feel horrible for them. You feel their pain, you take on their pain as your own while you try to ease their pain. You're a kind of emotional sponge; and occasionally, if you have no means by which to release the bottled-up emotions, you will break. It will cause you to have a really sad/annoying/grouchy day or two, but once it's over with, you're like a brand new sponge. As far as empathy being an embarassment? Yeah, I cried while watching Spider-Man 2, Win a Date with Tad Hamilton!, and Something's Gotta Give. I'm such a sad, sad, little man.

What's the point of all this? I don't really know to be sure. To take a random shot in a dark: you aren't who you know, you're not your bank account, your fancy car, or your big-screen TV. You're not who you've had sex with, you're not your job, you're not your clothes, and you're not your super-fancy high-tech toys. You're who you've been all your life, [Sappy Melodramatic Line Warning] you're the person in your heart; and, sometimes, at the end of the day that may be all you have.