"It's difficult because we are empaths," she said.
No, I don't mean I am an empath. I mean, she says she is, and the context is, we were talking about a person in her midst who I think is a psychopath. You know, the whole "they only show emotions when they get cues from others about how to act" thing? Me neither. I didn't study psychology outside of that one term during my college freshman year.
That makes the whole academic concept of empaths and psychopaths a little impenetrable for me, at least without the help of people who are more versed in the matter. They tell you what they know - what they studied, which is why they know - and you go, "yeah, that makes sense." And then you start thinking about where you really are in the spectrum, and you become aghast at the idea that you're probably a bad person.
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Yesterday I officially launched another writing project, another music blog - of sorts, since it is an email newsletter and it's updated way less frequently that the old one.
I suppose anyone who's read the launch post of Nicksy Once Monthly would have a really good idea of why I decided to do it after years of dithering. But that's not the point, really. Instead, you're in luck, for I'm treating you to another one of those ultimately empty entries about the magic of writing. Cue SpongeBob's "imagination!" GIF.
One of the things I end up embracing when starting a writing project is tweaking how you write to suit the medium you're writing on. I remember when I did Shale Campaigns (now that's a throwback) and someone being surprised to learn that I was the one behind it. Apparently, I wrote so differently there, compared to this blog, that they didn't even realize it was me, despite my name being all over it.
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I am consigned to my fate. A few years, hopefully a few decades, down the line, I will be bald.
I do what most people do when they're inside an elevator with mirrors on the walls, and check themselves out. My hair's still a bit messy, so I try fixing it as much as I could without using a comb. (I was never really a comb person, but that's not really related to this thought now, is it?) I see my hairline. I see my hairline retreat. It's happening, or at the very least, it's going to happen soon.
Is it supposed to be happening now? I mean, I'm only turning 34 today. Am I supposed to be balding now?
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I guess it's safe to say I am a fish out of water when I am at Power Plant.
Sure, it's not really that different from other malls. It is somewhat hidden away, sure, but it isn't that different from other malls. Or maybe it's because I am near one of the city's major malls, and frequent two relatively upscale ones much closer to me. The mix of stores isn't outrageously different. It even has a Uniqlo!
And yet, the people there are different. I was doing a quick grocery run there on Friday morning. The Marketplace is my usual grocery, only I go to the Shang, for proximity reasons. I know the mix there is a bit more aspirational than your usual grocery, but then, a bunch of financial transactions meant it is now owned by the Robinsons retail empire, and you know its products have shifted in a slightly different direction. (Either that, or my work means I am more familiar than most with how these things go.) But I don't get that many foreigners shopping when I'm at the Shang. I don't get a lot of house help following those said foreigners, either. At Rockwell, there's one or the other in every aisle.
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