So.

I've been wanting to start a journal for a long time now, since I wanted a noncommittal outlet for what might be considered writing practice. I always feel nervous and kind of unqualified whenever I'm writing fiction. There's something inherently vain and egotistical about it. It's an attempt to improve upon nature by presuming you actually have better stories to tell. I guess nature has no shortage of room for improvement on the ethical front, but there's little to change aesthetically. I know it's a cliche, but even imperfection is perfection in nature. We'd be set if we could ever get ourselves to the point where all we needed was for the world to be beautiful instead of also needing it to be kind.

So let me introduce myself, since I suppose whoever's reading this is entitled to some sort of introduction. I'm Raj, a nineteen year old college student in New Jersey. I leave out further specific detail in fear of tempting fate, and by "fate" I mean identity thieves. I'm paranoid. My paranoia weirds me out, because I'm ridiculously courageous and fly in the face of caution when I choose to voluntarily- I've been in life threatening car accidents without batting an eye afterward since there doesn't seem much point to being rattled after the fact- but apparently, even though my conscious mind is Matt Murdock, my subconscious is Marvin the Android. That's life, I guess. I should probably use that weird breed of courage to my advantage by doing things that require a lot of courage but aren't really risky per se, like acting or bungee jumping. (One down, one to go).

Oh yeah, I act in addition to writing. Overall, I spend most of my time preparing myself for a future as a professional bohemian. Among the measures I'm taking toward this end are not having a real job, dressing like a homeless person, majoring in philosophy, history and poli-sci primarily for a love of the subjects despite my ongoing pretense of preparing for law school, and last but not least, watching a lot of Arrested Development over the past couple of days, interspersed with bouts of Starfox Adventures and Guitar Hero III. At first I tried reading Dickens, but winter break, much like life, is short. Although right now I'm reading The Selfish Gene by Dawkins, which is actually really fun.

Also, to be fair to Arrested Development, it probably has about as much overall artistic merit as Oliver Twist, and is just about as useful as a means of pretending to be intelligent.

Oh, and I'm addicted to Bear Naked chocolate granola. It's like crack. I generally prefer to ingest it orally, but I really wouldn't mind snorting it because as much as I love chocolate, I'm pretty sure most of the pleasure I'm deriving from it comes from the fact that it nourishes the soul directly, skipping over the intermediary of bodily sensation.

So, um, I'd say this post thus far is a pretty adequate summation of my personality. Lemme wrap it up before I get too ambitious. Besides, summary, much like translation, inevitably ends in failure. People are too complicated, and I'm probably no exception. I certainly don't understand myself half the time.

P.S. This is an addendum for anyone I'm friends with personally: I probably like you a lot more than you realize. Even though it doesn't seem like it since I don't have a facial expression on most of the time, I have an honest love for life and humanity and you're probably no exception to that. We should hang out. Or boffer fight. Or fall in love. Or talk philosophy. Or watch a movie. Or do any of the above, really. I'm up for whatever.