I’ve been meaning for ages to write a post about social anxiety, because I know a lot of you relate to that issue, and also because I feel like I owe everyone in my life a perpetual, evolving apology for it. But the more drafts I make, the more my whining irritates me. This is one of those topics for which only complete honesty suffices, you know? And there’s only so far a person can pry open their private life, before it starts to threaten the levity of their pastries and shinies blog.
So instead, here’s my current theory explaining why I am how I am: which is that I’m obviously a changeling. Yes. This is Occam’s razor, you guys. The real baby Marian was abducted by creatures of the Fey and carried off to be a lord of their realm, and I’m the monster simulacrum they left behind.
If that sounds like nonsense, I’ve put together a handy visual guide to make it all clear. And actually, it gives me a fair amount of relief to think about the real Marian, bright eyed and broadly competent, off having fantasy adventures across the veil. You go girlfriend. Be the generous scholar-prince you were born to be. I’ll be here, moping around in general; smearing cake on all my possessions, and wearing the same disgusting sweater for a month straight.