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When I was little, my back-door neighbors acted as my pseudo grandparents. They had a back porch that I frequented, which contained, among other things, a red plastic box with a blue top, purchased from Toys R' Us specifically for the purpose of entertaining my brother and me. Inside the box were several blocks cut into different shapes, and in the blue top of the box were holes cut out in those same shapes.

The purpose of the game was to fit each block into the correct hole and fill the box with shapes.

My little brother sat with that box for hours on end until he discovered the correct hole each shape fit into, filled the box with the blocks, and then repeated the process.

I sat with the box for a maximum of ten minutes, at first calmly attempting to fit the shapes into their correct holes, then attempting to bang the shapes into whatever hole I saw fit for disposal of the block, and then finally ripping the top off the box, throwing all the shapes inside, and slamming the top back on again. Then I would smile happily, get up, and continue on my way.

True story. Here is what it tells you about me, and how I have always been:

I am not a generally patient person. In fact, I am probably rather impatient. I am terrible at meditation. I take objection to backing down from a challenge, and also to the slandering of good food, good literature, good people, and mustard. I WILL find a way to MAKE it work, whatever 'it' may be, and I won't pay attention to the rules if it comes to breaking them. I am twenty years old, I am too tall for a girl, and I wear heels anyways. I laugh when I am happy, nervous, embarrassed, uncomfortable, or in a situation where I am absolutely forbidden to laugh. Which, of course, makes me uncomfortable, which in turn makes me laugh more, which makes me embarrassed, which starts the whole process over again. This is alright, though, because I have a rather strange propensity for finding humor in almost any situation. This means I laugh rather a lot. I've heard it burns a lot of calories. However, I don't really give a wit about that.

My bedroom at home is haunted.

I am not as insane as my writing suggests, but I think I might be close.

You probably know me as Holly. My real name is Ann. You may call me either.

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