INFJ and Other Myers Briggs Typology Nonsense

So, basically, this blog, besides posting ridiculously sappy poetry (sorry, not sorry), is about discovering my more emotional side, so I am going to talk about a recent activity that shed a lot of light on my emotional and mental construct.

I think everyone should take the Myers Briggs personality test. (http://www.humanmetrics.com/)

Not only does it help you uncover neat little tidbits about yourself, it opens up a whole can of worms on how you relate to other people and how you can/should improve on it. And, unlike the astrology mumbo-jumbo I used to be so into, it is actually very detailed and very, VERY spot on, because it is testing you on your social and psychological tendencies.

There are about 16 different outcomes based on four groupings: Extrovert (E) versus Introvert (I), Sensing (S) versus iNtuitive (N), Thinking (T) versus Feeling (F), and Judging (J) versus Perceiving (P). You can have any percentage of preference of one over the other - I have a 34% preference of F over T based on the answers I've given, for example. Any combination determines what kind of human you are, fit into four different categories: Rationals (NT), Idealists (NF), Guardians (SJ), and Artisans (SP).

I turned out to be INFJ. Funny part that I liked the most was that I am one of 1-3% of the tested human population that falls under this category. I am one in one hundred. It seems almost nice that I am so...unique. Of course, I get beyond having an ego moment, and, looking through the many descriptions of the INFJ, or the Counselor, as most behaviorists would dub me and my ilk, it seems readily accurate. I seek harmony among my peers, I strive for perfection and am constantly seeking self-improvement, and I desire more than anything meaning within my relationships and ideas. I like writing my ideas down more than speaking them (obviously) and I am extremely guarded with my inner feelings and opinions.

What struck me most was how clear-cut it was about how, despite the fact that I could be mistaken for an extrovert for how well I can camouflage in social settings, I am a true introvert and find it difficult to let people in. I am easily hurt, but I will never show it, even in my dearest relationships. When hurt enough, I do not outright confront someone, but will slowly back away from the relationship until the bond has been stretched to a breaking point. This tendency leads to a lot of hurt and confusion on the part of my peers.

I am still trying to take it all in, and I am immersing myself in the psychology of it all. It is mind-opening, but confusing and startling at the same time, despite having secretly known it all along. Again, I highly recommend it, and will continue my research into it.

JUST DO IT.

The Disillusionment: Meeting More Bigots than I Can Handle

"Kind of sick of this whole "my religion is better than yours" game, a.k.a. American Founding Fathers were actually Deists, not Christians. Look your sh*t up before you claim America was founded on Christianity and tell me that because the Bible says so-and-so that it should be a federal law. Two words. SECULAR SOCIETY. Get with the 21st century and stop shoving your dogma in everyone else's face. It is getting really annoying really fast."

I am really wondering what would happen if I had posted this in my Facebook. Not going to lie, it would have been pretty entertaining for the people I would be directing this at. As for any innocent by-standers...I put off enough people by being as weird as I am. I don't need to start coming off as obnoxious on top of it.

This, for some background, is due to one specific person who I thought was a good friend. Then his girlfriend cheated on him, he became pretty depressed, and then she said sorry. This led to the notion that she deserved a second chance (no cheater EVER deserves a second chance) and now he thinks he has to compensate for a shitty girlfriend by being a religious freak. How do you become a religious freak?

Ellie's Guide to Becoming a Religious Freak
Step One: pressure your close friends to go to church with you every single Sunday without fail, no excuse, and if they don't, guilt them by telling them that their "souls need saving". Even the atheist ones. ESPECIALLY the atheist ones. (FYI, I am Episcopalian, for the record, and he never asked me to go to church because...
Step Two: Upon realization that another friend (this is where I come in) has dabbled in other religions (Wicca), tell them that "my opinion of you went from here" *hand held up high* "to here." *hand held significantly lower* Friend gets pissed off and doesn't feel like being around you anymore, but, hey, she doesn't revere God in the exact. damn. way. you. do. And that is baaaaaaaaad. So she's telling all your friends, who think a little more highly of her more rational and ethical personality than yours, that you are being an asshole. No big deal! Your soul is guaranteed a spot in heaven from all that church-going and witch-shaming you've been doing. Good job, fella.
Step Three: Post ASININE BULLSHIT about how you are significantly better at being Christian than everyone else. This includes reposting videos about God's saving grace, memes about how despite that you will defend your (non-existent) gay friends in the face of bullying, you don't believe they deserve the right to marriage (reason #1 why they are non-existent), and by making yourself out to be a generally better human being than everyone else despite the fact that your friends are slowly, but surely pulling their support away from beneath you.

Here is where this kid, by following these steps, will end up: friendless, angry, and stuck with a cheating bitch of an not-ex-girlfriend (yes, bud - she's still cheating on your ass, and no talk about her cystic ovaries is going to make that fact go away). All this will happen if he doesn't pull his large, seriously inflamed head out of his ass. Your religion doesn't make you a better person. It is WHAT YOU DO and WHO YOU ARE that make or break your chances of leaving a good memory on this earth.

In a few days, I will have no choice but to bitch-slap this kid and tell him what a moron he is being. I cannot stand the condescending glances, the "holier than thou" attitude, and this idea that he is so much smarter than me because he is choosing to save his soul - he, however, doesn't believe in evolution, thinks the Earth is 6,000 years old, and because Leviticus says that homosexuality is a sin (by the way, so is cooking beef with cheese, according to that - how was that cheeseburger last week, huh? And that mixed fiber cloth you wear all the time - polyester AND cotton? Break out the stones and stick him in the sand! We got ourselves a real sinner!) How can he possibly think he is the smarter one?

There is a New Testament for a reason: one that teaches us that it does not matter as long as you follow these two simple rules that Jesus laid out for us.
1. Love God above all things.
2. Love thy neighbor as thyself.

The New Testament is a creed which all Christians should live by, and really, that is all they should be thinking of abiding by. Just because you are so caught up in your insecurities about how manly or unmanly you are doesn't require that you vilify that guy in class who wears eyeliner and makes doe eyes at the dreamy male TA. He has feelings and needs and dreams (some of being MARRIED and being equal to his fellow man) and fears too.

So before you get you panties in a twist, just remember that before you start shoving your goddamn dogma in my face, you had better prepare yourself for having it slammed right back down your throat and out your ass. America is as much a Christian nation as it is a Zoroastrian nation or a Buddhist nation or a Wiccan nation. It belongs to all of us - that is the whole idea of America, the melting pot of cultures. If we start getting up on our high horses and proclaiming ourselves as better than another simply because we are different, then something has gone terribly wrong in the scheme of things.

Final word: get your religion out of our politics, and maybe we can all settle our social rights war with a little less personal hatred in the mix. Capisce?

Serendipity is a Funny Thing

I think I am going to let this one stand alone. No explanation, no nothing. But it is in lieu of something I totally saw coming...


The Odometer Reads Sideways Infinity

800 miles.
That is what I traveled.
Through stone and snow and pine, I drove my heart,
an angry fire screaming down the path of quiet sorrow
inflamed in desire for your secluded love.
A red-hot core burning through my bone and brine moaned
and creaked for you, like a house yet filled, swelling and shrinking
in the winter's chill, a hope enshrouded in graveyards and fences.

800 miles.
A drink, a whisper, a secret smile, and your hand is on
the small of my back - that sweet dip that beckons imagination,
that slopes into dark dreams and beautiful answers to anxious questions.
I lead you away from roaring crushes and milling crowds,
from the prying eyes of your friends who dare to flirt,
who could not know how deep this curiosity goes.
Your urgency follows me into the night as
you lead me off to a place of lonely music and warmth.

800 miles.
A cup of tea is a cup of trust -
you know I would not lead you here if I did not want more.
You kissed me, a happy rule broken into a promise made.
My head lies in the soft cloud of pillows and sighs as
your hands span my body, lovely cartographers,
and your strong body eclipses the fervent shudders of mine.
You pull at my hair, a briar patch in which you lose your mind.
I claw, scream into sheets in which you will undoubtedly smell my musk
weeks after I depart your embrace, hoping
that our dream will not die.

Morning comes, a somber reminder of the real world, and
I slip away, not knowing where you stand.
I do not say good-bye, but touch your shoulder,
silent, reverent farewell.
After a night of travel and one more of your love, I,
bleary-eyed, look at my odometer. 800 miles.
This is how far I went to find you and make you mine.
800 miles is how much further, if not more, I would go to keep you.

Doubt Only Makes Us Stronger

A friend of mine, one I am fairly certain would like it more if we were more...intimate, has told me that holding onto a love that I've had for a while, one greatly unreciprocated for the most part, is folly. I am foolish to hold onto this feeling that I have, that I should give up. Stubborn thing that I am, I refuse.

Unbeknownst to him, my doubts are always present. I have ran through every scenario in my head on how this plays out, and I understand the risks. Yet, doubt lingers. I was sitting in class today, and for the first time in a long time, I wrote a poem that I can actually call good. I'd like to share it with you now.

Leaving Something to be Desired

Summer gave a bounty of fruit
- apples and raspberry kisses and wine and
new cheese at the corner of your mouth, creamy and soft -
and nights spilled forth with moonshine and starlight,
dancing in your muddled irises like fairies exchanging wings for fins.
Skin and teeth and tongue and dark folds in the
sheets that conceal darker deeds with angelic exploits.

Autumn - a depression left when good-byes take our love
and stretches it over mountains and rivers and borders -
is reaching, reaching for a hand still reaching for you,
and while fingers graze each other, desire's razor,
there is not skin enough to take hold, to keep strong,
and thus we break.
We turn.
We fall. We sleep in the hibernating misery as we learn to cope
with the searing light and the snatching winds that once
you and I guarded the other against.

Winter brushes my skin, and I stand alone, once a half, now a shadow.
I ache for you like a mare whickering at a fence, which she heeds as a barrier
between her and some virile stallion, all hot blood and swollen flesh and
my heart panics, my eyes dull in the late wanting, and while
all wishes and songs yearn to tempt your ears to me, I am too far,
I run. I bolt. I dream of days and nights of walking back,
of your arms around me.
And I do return to a charred house at last, where love's mark is burned with despair.

Spring calls, and we kiss the earth where once we lay laughing
- prayers for a new dawn, like a child's hope.
Your perfect eyes bore a shiver into mine, and a flame,
somewhere, bursts into new truth, in an ether no man has touched.
Your rough, callused, gentle hand takes mine - my fence, my fury, is sated,
soothed as I remember, as sweet tasting memory returns.
The bridge is rebuilt, and our love is reborn into something bright.
The light no longer stings my eyes.

You Know Who You Are...

Oh, my psychoanalyst friend is really trying to get me in trouble...I don't know how to say the words I need to. I wish I could be brave, let you see my vulnerable side, and tell you...everything. God knows I am a coward when it comes to you. God knows you scare me shitless. I want to be so perfect for you, so wonderful that you can't possibly ever say no to me. Here it goes, and I hope, like I think you do, that you read this, because I am too afraid to text you or email you. I don't have Erik this time to pep talk me into sending you another email,  who is so sure that you want me too. Good kid, he is. I am too afraid to say it to your face, and I am sorry for that. You deserve better, a brazen beauty that I have only ever written about. Please forgive me if this isn't what you want to hear. I only think you should know...


A quarter after one in the morning, like the song, and I toss in my bed,
pacing from my covers to my computer, to write about love that other people have,
thinking about the one I want to have.
It hurts, being so far from you.
My mornings starts with thoughts of you.
My slumber starts with your face teasing me,
but it is never a perfect likeness, though I know the face I see
is meant to be yours.
I strain to remember how you inflect the words you say,
elusive syllables that I once mocked mercilessly.

I miss your smell, clean and male and subtle enough to draw me in.
I miss your voice, mellow and strong.
I miss your eyes, two storms on the edge of the sea.
I miss hearing your singular footsteps behind me, the knowing of precisely who approaches.
I miss your laugh, my reward, my cookie, for being witty.
Most of all, I miss the way you look at me,
as if I was the only woman you'd ever seen before.
Maybe it was a lie, a figment of my imagination, but others saw it too.
They saw the light in your heart for me
and sang your praises to me, furthering my admiration.

I tried, I promise. I tried so hard not to love you.
From the beginning, it was a losing war I fought desperately.
I cried endlessly, for fear that I was walking into a trap,
and I would have to forsake my heart again in order to walk away.
But, for every doubt, you countered me,
setting my weary, restless mind at ease.
You saw through me, like a glass rose ready to shatter, and you saw that too.
So you withheld from me, fearing just as much as I.

No words can express my gratitude
for how well you have guarded my heart from yourself.
I ask, no more. Let me say the words I need to tell you.
Let me, please, tell you how I miss you,
and how much I need to see your face again
Please, please, let me tell you that I need you,
that every day away from you is a sin and a mistake.
Every day is a countdown to the joy of return.
I miss you, son of the earth.
Let me come back to you.
Let me find a love in you.

Advocacy: Stop Trying to be Who You Aren't

Life is hard. When we are young and naive, we don't need to put up walls. Our only defenses are our parents and our teachers who look after our own well-being. We are immune to the effects of tragedy far away, and we are too young to understand tragedy close to home. then we grow up, and we begin to comprehend the world around us.

That is when we start building our fortresses.

A friend of mine thought it prudent to psychoanalyze me one night. I wonder if it was just because he saw my pain and wanted me to know it is okay. I haven't felt pain in a while - just numbness and refusal to register the lack of emotion I feel for most anyone at this point in time. I will be the first to admit that I read like an open book. I am not hard to figure out. I am, for the most part, as transparent as anyone can get. For this reason, I make a very terrible liar.

I stood at the counter of the desk that he works, downstairs in our residence hall, and he sat at the desk, watching me as he listed off so many things I didn't believe were obvious. It scared the shit out of me. For all my armor against the world, it does me no good when people can see me for what I truly am: a romantic, a girl who desires love and who desires to give love tantamount to that which she receives, a girl who is afraid of making connections, but doesn't want to be...how did he know all this?

I kept my brave face on as he continued, but I knew in my heart that once I was alone, I would break down. So I did. All that effort, all those prickly barbs I had grown to shield myself, they were all for nothing. They were nothing more than a waste of time. I still am the naive little girl with rose-tinted glasses, praying for someday to meet someone to share a life with, and despite trying to groom myself to be otherwise, it has all been in vain.

The point in all this? You can't change who you are. However, you can learn to do with that person what is best for you. God knows how I am going to make this work for me, but I will try...

At Least Derek Kilmer Has Vowed to Refuse His Pay

To the crackpots in Congress: thanks, guys. Now I can't do my Earth System Science lab because you couldn't get it together. Now the NOAA, NASA, USGS, and all those other websites we use for our work book are down. Don't worry. My teacher is scrambling to figure something out for us. And, hey, once you get your rears in gear, you can send my dad a big bonus for being cool about you cutting his employment. Oh, and I didn't need that government money for school anyways, so its cool if you lay off all those people who would be taking care of my application. You guys are stellar.

WTF?!?!?!?

Come on, guys! How hard is it to be real human beings for once? How hard is it to look for a good compromise? Stop sticking to your party lines, stop worrying about getting re-elected next year, because at this rate, I don't think it will happen anyways. People cannot live off of their savings for long. People cannot just stop using money. For one thing, we just got out of the Great Recession. We don't need a new one. For another thing, it will come, one way or another, to bite you in the ass.

Good luck getting re-elected. The only one of you who will is Derek Kilmer, and that is because he is giving up his pay until Congress gets back on track. Meanwhile, I am going to continue fuming and wait for everything to cool off while I look for a new job...something that has absolutely nothing to do with the government shutdown.