|03:23 pm - flapable|
I've made a bit of a career in "real life" out of being fairly unflappable. Certainly in the old days, when I was working, I was usually the one at work who could be counted on. Also, there isn't much in the way of human behavior that surprises me, because I am both a sufferer of depression and a bit of a cynic. (And if you scratch me you will indeed find a frustrated romantic, for what that's worth.)
Conversely to that, and especially as I get older, I find that art and artistic endeavors affect me disproportionately. Books not so strongly, but visual media in particular can stir up emotions and effect reactions that are at times a bit debilitating. I'll be crabby for days while my subconscious processes a film. I find it difficult to watch broadcast television because I get whipsawed by the ads (which I hate - the boxed set has become my favorite method of tv series consumption and my salvation) and overly frustrated by the weekly wait between episodes. I cry at the cinema for no particular reason other than being drawn into the story.
Not sure where I'm going with this, other than the promised life-over-examined. Just my current thoughts, as I am avoiding Nanowrimo proper. (I don't have trouble with word count, I have trouble making the words all hang together and pretend to be a novel.)