Mar. 4th, 2008

There was some talk of Enneagrams in my journal recently, having to do with character self-identification, and since I was bored and now earn more money than I know what to do with (not actually hard, since I generally don't know what to do with money even when making very little of it) I bought myself a ten dollar personality test.

The Enneagram posits that there are nine basic personality types but-of-course-it's-not-that-simple. I haven't studied up so I shan't bother discussing the subtleties of personality categorisation, and instead just say that I came out a Five, with Nine close on its heels and Six a distant second. For those of you in the Who fandom:



I am Peter Davison. Where's my goddamn cricket bat.

Apparently I am focused, observant, curious, studious, unsentimental, exploratory, compassionate, playful, and independent. I think there are people who will definitely Not Laugh At Me for the bit where it says I am also detached, preoccupied, high-strung, isolated, and unconventional with a tendency to withdraw when faced with complicated emotional situations. They are probably Not Laughing At Me so hard they've fallen out of their chairs. Yeah, well, joke's on you, because the paper says RIGHT HERE that Fives are withdrawn except with people they trust, and then can be quite talkative and sociable, which means I win the argument about whether or not I am a charming and socially adept person in real life. If I am, it just means I trust you, so stfu. :D

According to the profile, which I rewrote so that it was more well-organised, Fives are fond of overturning standard procedures and beliefs in favour of more efficient and effective methodologies.

They also have a dry, droll sense of humour and appreciate the absurd.

There's a lot of really dark stuff that the profile has to say about my personality type; it's not actually that it's really dark, as that it's really dark when it's referring to me. I hate to say it about any personality test because I do believe on some level they deny the essential diversity of the human condition, but one must face the facts: I'm textbook.

Still, I'm in good company. Albert Einstein, Georgia O'Keefe, Gary Larson, Emily Dickinson, Stephen King, and Vincent Van Gogh. We should all have a beer together. An incredibly quiet beer, while we terrify everyone around us.
Crap crap crap. I forgot about fucking March.

Actually it should be fucking June, since apparently that's The Month To Get Pregnant In. I swear to god everyone I know is born in March. Mum, Dad, and Mama Tickey all have their birthdays within two weeks of each other, starting mid-month. I'm always reminded when St. Patrick's Day is brought up, because Mum swears Gran held her in an extra day specifically so she wouldn't be born on the 17th. Grandad was a rampaging English xenophile, don't ask, he'd be horror-struck to find his only grandson living with a second-generation Irish-American.

It would be the three people who are the most impossible to shop for of everyone I know, too.

YARGH.
R does Irish step-dancing.

Or rather, did. He showed me a photo of himself in a step-dancing kilt. He won competitions for it.

See and now, if he ever finds out I write gay porn, I have ammunition.

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