If I Met Myself

I would—honestly—hate myself. I don’t think I can really like a hypocrite of such magnitude.

Seriously. Sometimes, I’m impressed by myself. For example, I write something or describe something. I set it down or submit it. Later, (and by later, I mean anytime more than a few hours) I look at it again and am instantly attracted to it. I’ve forgotten that I wrote it (because I’m an idiot), but all I know is that, “Hey, this person is interesting. This person can think.” Then I remember who wrote it, and I feel impressed.

Sometimes, I meet someone who shares a few traits with me. I hate them. No questions asked.

Sometimes, I write something, and I feel that whoever wrote that is a jerk when I forget it. I hate them.

I’m just too damn hypocritical.

And sometimes, I fill out a survey. A year or two later, I fill it out again, with new knowledge and everything; only, I’ve forgotten that I’ve already done that survey. The website shows me the survey from before, and I’m surprised that my answers are almost exactly the same. I feel like a completely different person wrote that past survey, yet the answers are the same.

Knowing this, you’d think that when I clean my room and leave something somewhere, I’d find it again. I think, “Knowing myself, I think I would have left this summer homework sheet in the things-for-summer-work-kind-of pile” and it turns out that it’s not there. It’s somewhere completely different.

Why can’t I surprise myself with my past self thinking like my current self whenever I’m looking for something I misplaced?!