It is always funny how other people’s perceptions of you contrast with your own sense of self. I had a conversation with a friend recently where this was well highlighted:
Me-I could never be as in to something as a Trekkie.
He(looking at me weird and snorting into his beer)- Yeah. Right. You’re not obssessive at all.
Me(all astonishment)- What do you mean?
He-Like you don’t get obsessive about the things you like. What about running? What about Harry Potter? What about reading in general?
Me (totally thinking that those things were NOT the same as being a Trekkie)- Those things are not the same as being a Trekkie.
Now, despite the ever conclusive, whatever, let’s break this down a bit.
1)Running doesn’t count because it is like insulin to a diabetic. If I don’t go running I go loco (which might have something to do with the February funk- it has been cold and icy and runs have been less). So running is not really obsessive, it is just a necessity, like breathing, eating and other unsightly bodily needs.
2)Harry Potter. That doesn’t count because I was in the company of millions of people. Plus, in my defense, I never dressed up as a wizard, nor waited at a book store at midnight. No. I just sensibly got my copies delivered to me on the very day of their release. God. The nerve of him. It almost makes me want to take away the Griffindor scarf I knitted for him away.
3) Books. Well, this one is a little harder to justify. However, erudition. Advancement of knowledge. One could never have enough of them. Therefore, this does not count as obsessive, just as valiant attempts at self amelioration.
So there. NOT obssessive. What’s that? How do teenage vampire love novels fit into the bid for self improvement?
Of course, that wasn’t really what I meant at the beginning of the conversation. I was actually feeling a bit wistful about it. I am not obssessive enough, in my head. I mean, if I was, would I be wasting time doing things I didn’t want to do? My sister is obsessive. She has wanted to be a vet since she was able to say the word (which would count me out right away as I still can’t say the damn word- veterinarian- let alone spell it. It just seems all wrong.) My father was obssessed with planes and knew from an early age that he wanted to be a pilot. I know, I know. Look where that got him- but at least he died doing something he loved. I, on the other hand, know what I want to do, but can’t seem to do it. See? NOT obssessive enough….