Firstly to start things off, I hate icebreakers. Disclaimer: this whole thing is going to be an icebreaker, but I will try to make it as much my own as physically possible. Oh, and I’m Kait by the way.
Oh, and as you should already know I have a fascination with blood. I love getting nosebleeds and when I had my wisdom teeth pulled, I asked for them to save my teeth. I love teeth, lips, and legs most about human beings.
In this paragraph I will name random words that come to my head. I hear that actually helps determine what a person is like subconsciously. Plus, it’s my own version of a non-awful icebreaker. Here we go: feather, elixir, window, naked, blood, candle, healer, light, book, broken, crooked, hilarious, extinguish, horizon, change, boundaries, life, fingers, happiness.
Other than spitting out words sporadically on paper, I write poetry on some days and draw on other days. Some days I’m an artist, other days I’m a scientist. I flip flop like the moon and the sun so often push each other around for their turn in the sky. However, I am not the typical “I like long walks on the beach” or any of that. Sand is way too hard to get off me. Sand to me is like glitter; it’s like the herpes of the craft world. I like to rage about random things such as that. I have aggression towards cardboard. Everything cardboard IS just frustrates me. The dry, stale air it creates when I smell it gives off dries out my nose. The texture feels scratchy and awful under my fingertips. The sound it makes when I rub my hand on it or when it is crumpled. Once, I got a cardboard paper cut and that might be one of the worst things to have ever happened to me, other than being shot in the eye with a bb gun.
My family/home life has never been too enjoyable, but I may not write down all the details on simply the first date. The abridged version is the fact that my dad used to be awful then he became better and now my mother is awful and she won’t speak to me. My mother suffers from bipolar disorder, which makes things extremely difficult especially because she won’t admit it.
Speaking of disorders, and all that jazz, I aspire upon becoming a psychiatrist or art therapist. I am going to major in psychology and dual major in art. The term “dual major” always makes me think that the two studies are going to enter into an epic fight sequence. Anyway, the reason I said, “I am going to major” is because right now I am majoring in interior design for a reason unbeknownst to me.
And this is where the closing paragraph is supposed to go. I haven’t finished my life yet, so I haven’t stopped learning and building onto myself. For that very reason, I can’t stop now. Maybe on my deathbed I’ll write the final chapter on my life.
