Self_Analysis

I’m Angela. I like being called Angie, Ang, Bird, and Batman. I like giving people nicknames and I like receiving nicknames. I like people with unique names. I like names. I like giving things names. I think everything deserves a name. I like the sweet smell of hot asphalt in the afternoon. I like running around barefoot. I like rolled up sleeves. I like bright red ladybugs. I like drinks in pitchers. I like reading under trees. I like biting straws. I like picnic tables. I like shady spots. I like pleasant anticipation. I like being liked. I like rolling around in the grass. I like leather bracelets. I like peekaboos. I like wavy hair. I like boys in shorts and jeans. I like amethyst. I like river stones. I like how the world looks yellow in the summertime. I like how happy you can make someone with a little compliment. I like sitting on bridges. I like time capsules. I like black and white tiled floors. I like gasoline rainbows. I like when boys try to cheer me up. I like dream meanings. I like antique wooden furniture with peeling paint. I like red barn doors. I like long skirts and flip flops. I like hugs from behind. I like being told that I’m loved. I really like that. I like good coffee. I like old fashioned feather dusters. I like long strands of pearls. I like the bell jar. I like running my hand through racks of clothes. I like soft palms. I like when hands fit perfectly together. I like sentences that don’t make sense. I like deep fried chicken. I like pretty old buttons. I like reading books under blankets. I like comfy velvet couches. I like boys in waffle shirts. I like going on picnics. I like long shiny hair. I like walking through the woods. I like closing my eyes and running. I like the pale green of budding trees. I like when people say I love you. I like cream puffs. I like southern boys with slow drawls. I like comfortable silences. I like lying on people’s laps. I like sleeping in odd places. I like cowboy hats. I like cowboy boots. I like cowboys. I like mini trampolines. I have a pathetically awful way of showing my affection for somebody that I like. I pay attention to him but I talk more to other guys around us, and even then, I get sad when he talks to other girls. and when he tries to get my attention I kind of brush him off sometimes, and I don’t know why I do it because just looking at him makes me feel like I can breathe again. And I’m always looking around the room, and I want to just sit there and stare at him and talk but I just can’t. He makes me so restless. I don’t know what my deal is. I think it might be because he’s the one person in this world that makes me genuinely nervous. I like those moments, those perfect moments, when your stomach hurts and you can’t stop tearing up because you’re laughing so hard, when you’re in a love pile and realizing how lucky you are that you have these friends, when the clouds look like cotton candy and you’re running down the street barefoot, when nights turn out better than you expected, when the planets are aligned and mercury’s not in retrograde and everything’s going perfectly, those are the moments, the little glimmers of hope, that make me realize why life is worth living. I don’t like being falsely accused of things. And I don’t like judgmental, pessimistic people. I also don’t like flared jeans. I love car rides. I love sitting with my feet propped up on the dashboard, listening to chilled acoustic Australian bands on my iPod, and looking outside and making shapes out of the clouds, or watching the moon stay still while the rest of the world whirs by. The smell of the countryside in the summertime, with the worn out fences and stacks of hay decorating the roads. Pressing your face against the cool of the window, a content smile lining your face. Laying down and watching the city lights, listening to people laughing and cars screeching, while you’re cocooned in your little world. In a car, you have the world at your fingertips, you could go anywhere that you’d like, and there’s no force that could ever stop you. I like baguettes. I like heels that clack through halls. I like cocoa. I like four day weekends. I like when everyone is asleep but me. I like falling asleep to waves. I like nice boys with cute smiles. I like mandarin oranges. I like strong shoulders. I like hair that goes on forever. I like strawberry jelly. I like lights strewn around trees. I like strobe lights. I like dancing in the rain. I like new notebooks. I like who I am. I like denim jackets. I like remembering lyrics to sweet acoustic songs. I like foxes at night. I like bonfires and driftwood. I like horses that nuzzle my shoulder. I like unexpected excitement. I like being drunk dialled. I like the smell of paint. I like dainty gothic jewellery. I like the freedom of youth. I like being a sister. I like being a sister who acts more like a brother. I like the dramatic. I like the undramatic. I like blowing bubbles and drawing with chalk. I like building houses in the sand. I like melting into arms. I like when my real friends can tell when I’m upset. I like bitching out at people. I like French food. I like pastel coloured bikes. I like gold buttons. I like smiling. I like not being a whore. I like buildings with vines. I like being told I have a nice smile. I like old cartoons. I like chocolate muffins. I like love piles. I like being cuddled with. I like babies with curlicues. I like nice strangers. I like when a guy walks by smelling delicious. I like glow in the dark stars. I like fashionable moustaches. I like people who like me for me. I like people who are excited to see me. I like hot tea. I like rain in the morning. I like invitations. I like formal attire. I like eyes flecked with sparks. I like crisp sheets. I like lavender and vanilla. I like jackets. I like scruffy jaw lines. I like scones. I like wanting to be cuddled. I like being hugged. I like black pens. I like when people are genuinely happy to see me. I like making people laugh. I like when people whisper into my ear and then my sides start to tickle. I like late night phone calls. I like real surprises. I like baby pink and canary yellow. I like going on walks when nobody’s around me in springtime. I like 3a.m. when I’m the only one awake. I like drawing stars and rainbows and unicorns and fairies. I like daydreaming. I like happy, oh-there-you-are-i-hoped-i’d-bump-into-you smiles. I like giving presents. I like getting presents. I like lavender and vanilla. I like hundred dollar bills. I like hundreds on tests. I like people who smile to themselves and think nobody’s watching them. I like people. I like people who like people. I like people who hate people. Sometimes I have to abandon elegance and lovelier words. They get in the way, clouding up my thoughts with silly dreams that I must constantly apologise for. Afflicted by contemplation, that’s nothing new— but despite everything, there’s a part of me that needs to know that I haven’t lost all contact with reality, even with all its monotony.