I have somehow fooled the world into thinking I’m intelligent.
I’m not. Not really.
I don’t have an ‘about’ page on here because I never have the faintest idea what to put on them. I dropped out of school when I was 13. When I was 16 and all my friends were leaving school, I was leaving home and moving to Nottingham by myself because I needed to be free. When I was 18 and my peers were going to uni, I was a stoned little punk kid, already jaded by clubs and drinking and I was stuck in a crappy job I hated. By the time everyone I grew up with was getting their degrees, I was back home caring for my grandparents as they died horribly.
I mean, I’m from a council estate and no one I grew up with went to university but that isn’t really the point. The point is that this is all very interesting as a life story but there aren’t any notable achievements there. I’ve been able to get fairly decent jobs by lying my arse off and charming whoever was interviewing me but I’ve had to teach myself the stuff I know and I don’t know if I know it properly. I’ve managed – I’ve been told I’m good – but I think I’ve just been lucky so far.
I don’t really want to list my hobbies because my hobbies aren’t particularly interesting. And who the hell cares about other people’s hobbies unless they’re interesting? I like some music, some films, some games and some recreational activities. Just like everyone else. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. I like photography and reading and writing. Just like every other person with a blog.
The other thing that people mention on their ‘about’ pages is stuff about their personal lives; presumably to help pad it out a bit and to give the rest of us a chance to give their lifestyle, grammar and sense of humour a bit of a once over before we decide to read the rest of their writing. I find trying to sum my life up in a sentence or two is a bit hard. I have to include words that conjure mental images that aren’t really relevant to me… besides which, they’re not relevant to the blog because I don’t necessarily want to put my entire life online. There’s a reason I’m not on Facebook.
So what does that leave me with?
I could be creative about it, but I feel like I stroll along the line between creativity and pretentiousness too frequently as it is. I have to rely on wit and intelligence, and I don’t have much of either. I’ve been called a lot of names, but never witty. And as I’ve said, I might have tricked everyone into thinking I’m intelligent but if you scratch the surface – and a page where you’re trying to present yourself to the world provides a perfect surface – then you’d see that I’m just tarting up a whole load of nothing. Like make-up on a ghost.
I use too many words, I know this. I have conversations with actual intellectuals and they smile patiently while I ramble on and on excitedly about something I’ve just discovered that the rest of them knew about forever ago. And then they ask me questions! Brilliantly thought-out, gently prying questions about whatever I was saying. So I panic and ramble on a bit more until they leave me alone. Other people don’t ask me questions. When I start rambling they just smile patiently until I leave them alone.
There are many, many things I don’t know. I probably won’t learn them, either. And that makes me sad. I’ve tried to read as many books as possible, but there are just too many. I need to read more books. I need books with which I can fall in love and learn something. I just don’t know where to start.
I tried to become an overachiever but I got imposter syndrome before I even had the chance. One of the ways to help with imposter syndrome is writing therapy, where you write out your achievements so that you can read over concrete evidence that you’re not awful at whatever you do.
I don’t even want to post this now. I just spent an hour writing about how awful I am, in order to explain why a page about how awful I am wasn’t needed. Why the hell did I do that?