There is no other fear in anyone's day that instills fear like the words, "tell me about yourself." I have always found that while you are spending your moments with your brain in a harried sense of holy moly, who and what am I, your physical self is about to take you to the verge of haphazard. Your mouth is dry, your throat craves to clear as sandpaper begins to take root in your trachea, your sweat glands decide now is the perfect time to purge their contents. Finally when you think you have finally reached the moment of regret for saying hello, you have an audible moment that requires the polite "Excuse me."
In the meantime, the person in front of you, who now is trying to figure out why they desired to engage you in conversation, is checking you out. NO, not that kind of checking. But the critical kind that measures your education, social status, intellect, mannerism, characteristics and grade of human simply by looking at your shoes. You are measured by the statement your clothes makes, how you hold whatever it is your are fiddle with in your hands, what your teeth look like when you smile and whether or not you cared enough to comb your eyelashes after applying the required two coats of mascara.
No matter what you say, you have been classified before you ever get the first word out. You have been filtered through every stereotype imaginable. Each screen press you fall through drops you on the next with a finer mesh. Ultimately you will land on a level in which you no longer fit through the screen and thus your freefall to the bottom of importance is stopped somewhere in the middle layers.
A bio about me would be lengthy and entertaining, that is why I am here. So I will describe myself as the many of the eyes of the world see me: I am a woman. I am a New Yorker born under the stars of Capricorn. I am Irish and Catholic. I am a mother. I am a daughter, a sister, aunt, ex-wife and friend. And I am me and it shall be an interestiing journey
Hello.