english major

Every other day I curse the English major in me, not because it's utterly useless, but because it's actually the most useful thing on the planet.

Let me explain. Being an English major gives you this ability to think. And overthink. I overthink everything you can possibly imagine. Whenever an event occurs, I think about its symbolic meaning, its cosmological significance. I think about it so much that I often have this running dialogue in my head debating how different signs fit into my life.

Instead of, oh hey, my coffee just burned my tongue. I should have let it cool first. No, I think this: What did I do wrong to deserve nature's will punishing me by burning my mouth? I was probably too loose with my tongue earlier. From now on I will watch what I say.



I jest to a degree, but I will say that I try to fit the events of my life into one of the many literary tropes so I can attempt to predict the future. Some days I see myself as the heroine of a Victorian novel, brushing aside convention to follow the path of independence. Other times, I'll envision myself as Harry Potter, on a quest to triumph over The Dark Lord. It always works to a degree, and then my life veers in the opposite direction, so I have to find a new trope to guide me. It's probably not the healthiest hobby, but it makes life fairly interesting. It lets you see how you fit into the world.

I also read into conversations, entirely too much. What you say, what you don't say, I take it all into account as I read you. I read your tone, analyze your actions. This I admit is a problem. At this rate, I'd make a great anthropologist, sociologist, reporter, writer. So I guess this serves as a warning to those who meet me in the future, and an apology to those who already know me and have suffered because of my fixations.