He's in all of us. He knows our minds. He can see through our eyes. He's an outcast living in the inside - the ghost of society.
Enter the dark and tragic life of the lowly James Johnson as he trudges forward as an office drone in a boring textile...
Word of the day:Pariah. Someone who is hated simply by existing.
According to mypersonality.com, I am an INTP, which could not be more correct. Basically, my thoughts are me, and I am my thoughts. I don't venture out or seek other people's opinions, rather, I listen to other people and form my own opinions about them.
Before we begin, I would like to say you will not know the condition of my work place - who cares if the walls are tan and not grey? And no, why do you want to know how I hold my paper cup and if I just sweat four beads of bodily fluid from my brow? Skip the flowery descriptions, you want to know how I think. In the real world or at the end of the day, you want to know how someone thinks, not the colour of their car or if their tie was untied today.
Yes, of course, writers need to know how to describe and show instead of tell. Well, good luck with finding that in this story because I won't offer it to you. This is my one time to show you who I am. Artificial stuff can burn, but my thought process, analytical personality, how I perceive you versus me. That, my friend, is far more interesting than knowing whether or not I liked having sex with the secretary and how her breasts rose and fell in my face.
Now, sorry for that. I actually never had sex with the secretary because people like me are drones. We are a production line, a robot. A pathetic paycheck. You want to know what I look like? Hear the sound of my voice. That quick, snappy, hyper-nervous voice you're hearing right now will probably paint the picture of someone whose brows twitch a lot, the nose scrunches up to one side really fast, and the face is emotionless and judges always.
What is INTP? Someone who thinks way too much. Someone who's temperamental, restless, has a fantastically painful dose of anxiety, depression, and OCD. I encompass all of them and no, I'm not proud of them. I don't like talking about it to make you feel sorry for me. A person who's going to commit suicide never leaves a note because they hate themselves so much that they believe no one will ever read their note.
I work alone. I think alone. I eat alone. I sleep alone. I'm not lonely. I just ended up that way.
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