I seem to have been tagged. Thanks, K8 the Gr8. Most of the time, I pretend I don’t notice that I’ve been tagged (especially when the meme is as angst-inducingly confusing as the one Foreigner tried to tag me with last month. Fortunately I didn’t notice), but this one seemed straightforward enough. Since I’m too frazzled at the moment to think of anything original to blog about, the meme is well-timed. Here goes…
Here are the rules of the Meme:
Post on your blog . . .
+ Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
+ Share 7 random and/or weird facts about yourself.
+ Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
+ Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
1. I talk to myself when I’m on my own. Sometimes I don’t even notice I’m doing it, and I feel quite foolish when I hear myself finishing a running commentry of my actions with a question like “wouldn’t you say so?” or “what do you think?”. To conceal my own embarrassment at myself, I’ve taken to pretending I was talking to the cat all along (because talking to a cat is marginally better than talking to yourself), so I hurriedly finish my sentence with “Kat”. It makes us both feel better.
2. I am scared to death of cotton wool. It gives me the heebie-jeebies, makes the little hairs on my arms stand on end, and is just the vilest substance ever known to man. I have actually been known to cry when taunted with a piece of cotton wool by an evil ‘friend’. In fact, I’m not even too comfortable with writing about it, so I’ll stop now.
3. I love Robert Downey Junior.
4. My accent and vocabulary change depending on whose company I happen to be in. I have no control over it. Speaking to customers or making work-related calls, I talk like I live on the Galgorm Road, always e-nunci-at-ing prop-er-ly. In conversations with American friends, I develop a slight up-and-down lilt and adapt to their version of the English language (e.g. ‘trash’ instead of ‘rubbish’, ‘regular’ instead of ‘ordinary’…), I find myself lapsing into a Glaswegian brogue when talking to Scottish friends, and since I’ve been living in this estate I have – to my utter horror – found myself speaking like a native, saying “beck” instead of “back”, and actually letting phrases like “pure shattered” and “weak cool” cross my lips.
5. The previous point bothered me so much that I had to stop writing for a few hours. I am a stickler for proper grammar, pronunciation, vocabulary and punctuation. It pains me to realise that I am far from perfect in any one or all of these areas. I am a failed perfectionist, and it hurts.
6. I can’t go straight to bed when I get home, no matter how late it is or how early I have to get up in the morning. My mind refuses to switch off unless I’ve sat down on the sofa, had a cup of tea or glass of Diet Coke, maybe written an email or a blog post, watched an episode of Friends, or sent a few texts. I don’t know why. To be honest, I’ve never really asked why. But there it is, all the same.
7. My emotions don’t work properly. There are times when I want to cry, because I’m devastated, and I’ll even try to cry, but I can’t. I start to panic about the fact that I’m not crying, and maybe the people I’m with will think I should be crying and wonder if I have a heart of stone. Try as I might, and heartbroken as I may be, the tears don’t come. And yet I’ll be watching something stupid like Neighbours, and someone will die or get married or rescue a little puppy from the lake, and I’m in floods of tears. I’m trying not to cry because it’s so ridiculous, but the lump in my throat chokes me and I bawl like a baby. There’s just something warped about my whole emotional being.
I’m not sure I can be bothered tagging anyone, you know. I’m too busy. Look, if you want to do this, go ahead – consider yourselves all tagged!