I’m an absolutely normal person. Abysmally normal. Hideously normal. So white bread and uptight that it’s not even funny. In some ways, I’m probably just like you, only repressed, unsociable or bound by a non-disclosure agreement.
I write. I analyze. I ask a lot of stupid questions. I solve problems, and I create new ones. I can break processes, software and brains (seemingly) simply by being in close proximity to them. That used to alarm me, then people started paying me to do it. I got over it.
I find data soothing. I find it funny when I spell my name for someone and they still insist on sticking an ‘r’ in it. Or a ‘k’. In drive-thrus, my name is Kate.
I’m not sure I’ll ever finish going to school, because I don’t know everything yet and yeah, that bugs me. Sometimes, I have a mental soundtrack. That should bug me more than it does.
I’m married to a Certified Genius. We’re still trying to figure out this parenting thing (and pretty sure that it’d be easier to send a bag of cats to Mars). We have a son. Singular. We’ve had cats. Multiple. We like our son better, even if he’s more complicated.
Way more complicated.
We often look at dog owners with blatant envy.
We move every four-five years or so. Eight years ago, we relocated from Northeastern Pennsylvania to Northern Virginia. We were twitching more than a little in cul-de-sacia, so last summer, we decided to buy a farmette with Internet.
It still seems like a good idea.
The local wildlife probably wishes we’d hurry up and buy some chickens already.
Modus Dementi is supposed to be Latin for ‘demented mode’, but since I don’t know Latin, it probably isn’t. Google Translate suggests that it’s ‘stupefied by the mode of’ … and I can’t argue with that at all.
I do, however, know French — a peu, parce que j’ai suivie de cours à l’université. Démenti means ‘contradiction’. The term’s often used to mean the official or formal denial of the truth of a report. I’m not quite sure what that says about this blog’s narrator.
