There's a very delicate balance in my head when it comes to how I perceive people. I admire confidence, but not too much confidence, which becomes arrogance. I respect and sympathize with people going through hard times (Charles Dickens reference count: 2), but if they wear their trauma like a banner, it puts me off. It's the difference between people who are obnoxiously intelligent and those who are discreetly intelligent, between people with low self esteem and people who fish for compliments, and between nice people and the people who pretend to be nice for popularity's sake. I think a lot of it depends on what I'm starting to believe is a somewhat inaccurate internal judgment of sincerity.
Though through this mindset I've discovered a new personal pet peeve: when people define maturity by landmark experiences, and think that it can only be gained after getting stabbed on "the street" and living a life of sex, drugs, and rock n' roll. Does moving out of your parents' house make you mature? How about smoking and getting drunk every night? Or holding a soul-sucking 9 to 5 job? It's a difficult, if not impossible, thing to judge by such extraneous standards.
Hooray for quickly passing school days, photoshop, clinging warmth, sleep, and effortless relationships.
Boo for sickliness, side effects, burning the roof of your mouth, and Mr. Flemming.
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