Twenty-five Reasons to Find Me Annoying, TK

If you are on Facebook, or maybe even if you're not, you have caught wind of these "Twenty-Five Things" lists that have been making the rounds over the past couple of weeks. The premise is simple: basically, somebody makes a list of twenty-five "random" facts about him or herself, then sends it on to 25 people, who are meant to do the same thing, making sure to send their own list back to the person who originated the chain for them. 

By this point, I have been "tagged" by a number of people to make my own list, and after having read dozens--those compiled by friends as well as strangers, people whose lists are available to me by virtue of a common friend--it is time to bite the bullet and do my own.

Except I can't quite do it. Yet. Let me try to explain. I love these sorts of things. Many if not most of my closest friends find them excruciatingly annoying and juvenile, and yet every time something of this ilk crosses my path, I beg them to do it, motivated by my own curiosity as to what they will say. I love finding out things I didn't know about my friends, but more, I love seeing how they approach the questions, in such different ways from each other and from me. I love both being surprised and having my assumptions affirmed, when I see someone answering questions the way I would have predicted they would answer them. And I love that I read them so openly. Although I can be very judgmental in real life, in this type of scenario, I always cut people maximum slack. 

So why have I not been able to come up with twenty-five random things about me? I have, many times over, in my head, usually as I am taking a shower or walking to the subway, but in the cold light of day--or rather in the presence of my computer--the facts seem too random, oversharing of the worst kind, and I fear being judged--not just judged in general but being deemed some kind of person based on the compilation of items that I don't necessarily want to be seen as.

This is, I know, childish, and what's more, it defeats the purpose, which is to lightheartedly and in the moment come up with a quick list of things that come to mind. But I am an overthinker, an anxiety-prone, self-conscious, navel-gazer who knows that if anyone even reads my list, they will give it less thought afterward than it took me to write item 1. Still, I overthink and analyze. If I write that I love fried food, do I need to then come up with another item that reveals my gourmet side? If I write that I am double-jointed in my fingers do I run the risk of just seeming like a person who needs to get an actual hobby, or, dare I say it, a life?

Even in writing about my inability to write my twenty-five list I am overthinking, ruining the spontaneity of a fun little exercise with my neurotic streak and self-regard. But it does give me some more ideas for my list. Which might, just so I can finish it and shut up about it, be posted here tomorrow. I bet you can hardly wait.