This has been a week of self-discovery. I seem to be an HSP — a Highly Sensitive Person. Part of the reason I was unwilling to accept it from the beginning was the corny name. Then there's the fact that HSP sounds like ADD: that is, an umbrella diagnosis with little basis in reality for people who don't fit in with the societal order. I'm still skeptical, but what I read about it describes my experience awfully well.

Being an HSP means that I'd find it very difficult to timely process unexpected criticism. It has to do with a lot of things, but mainly — with the bluntness and the lack of nuance to certain responses I might get. Give me data ("here's what, here's why, here's how"), and we'll talk. Make it personal ("you're a dick"), and there ain't no conversation to be had — even though I try.

I thought I was just weird. Turned out, there's a reason, and that reason's existence justifies me being myself. There's a sense of liberation in finding out your condition is not unique.

There's a note on my smartphone. I wrote it after going out in the street at 2 AM, unable to sleep from being sick with cold. It's the most honest thing I've written in ages. It reads:

- I dont wanna learn languages

- I dont wanna be a teacher?

- I dont wanna tattoo

- I dont wanna stay at the uni

- I need purpose

In order:

I got it into my head that I'm interested in learning languages for some reason. Latest events prove that it isn't the case. I still find languages interesting (and I do speak English), but making it into a life goal seems unappealing. That I'm going to need to pass a foreign language exam at the end of the semester complicates matter.

This semester sees us studying Economics. The lecture is first thing in the morning on Monday, and it's an exercise in anger management every time because of the teacher. That night, I started reflecting upon my future career, and I recalled wanting to teach children more than just a foreign language. I want to tell them about the rules of engagement in an unfamiliar and harsh world that their parents are unlikely to part with. Then I looked at the Economics teacher and the way she dispenses her "wisdom" (like how men can't be trusted and, therefore, women should always be a bit bitchy, in a "can't handle at my worst, don't deserve at my best" kinda way), and the thought horrified me. I absolutely do not want to be anything like her — and if that's my destiny, then I'd rather not teach at all. Things settled a bit since then and I realized that I don't have to be like her, but the thought will stay with me for a while.

I wanted to get a tattoo on my left arm to celebrate the personal growth as well as getting out from under my parents' wing and stepping forth to become my own man. Been dreaming about the tattoo — this particular design — for maybe a year or two. Last week, after asking around and reading about, I'd set up an appointment with a respected local tattoo artist. The night before, I realized, quite vividly, that I do not want a tattoo. I like the idea, but I don't want to wear one. There's something disconcerting about committing my skin to a permanent story.

The thought of having spend any more time at the uni, doing things I don't want and performing to a certain level, earns me the blues. I feel stuck in a cubicle-esque existence, doing work that dries my soul out. It's telling that any day I decide to skip nowadays feels like a breath of fresh air that fills me with joy and desire to do good by my life. That said... I feel like I'll be better off with the diploma, because at least it will serve a formal certificate of my skillset, which would (hopefully) make it easier to find a job. I have less than a year and a half until that. I'd rather persevere than regret later.

"Purpose" might not be accurate. I need the kind of drive that makes me people do stuff they're passionate about. Right now, everything in me says "Be lazy", and I find it hard to resist most of the time nowadays. It probably has a lot to do with the uni situation, but isn't it possible to work on something good in the meantime?

Someone shared The Oatmeal's piece on creativity on Hubski recently. Whoever you are: thank you. I needed to read that.

Oh, and Rosa's not dead.