Staring at the student body, the Chameleon became aware that she had ceased to be all the things that made her flawed and weird and human.
She made a sweeping gesture with her arm from behind the podium, putting on her best politician voice as she hit the final leg of her speech.
“Design thinking,” she said, “is the process of discovery, the path to a smarter level of human accomplishment. By choosing to change, we abolish the obstacles that prevent our minds from adapting to new stimuli. By wanting, willing ourselves to become more, it simply happens. But it must be a team effort!”
Her little nod was almost a command. The auditorium went wild with applause.
She could remember being a normal high school girl. Glasses had magnified her eyes to a state of constant alarm. Braces had discouraged her smile. She’d walk apologetically through the hallways, avoiding the other teens like an opposing magic.
The students cheered for her transformation to a well-adjusted young woman. They were happy for her because it was easy, because her change was all surface. But she felt so deeply the void that reached across all of them. They didn’t care, and they didn’t bother faking it beyond the applause and cheers.
Jessi the Chameleon knew this, because she was an empath.
One of the reasons I frequent reddit and imgur is to hear snippets of life stories. Is it because I can extract these stories for my own selfish reasons and use them to supplement fiction? Or is it because I enjoy the everyday vicarious socializing using animated images and memes?
Get it? Because it’s a meme.
When a post opens with “This is how a game saved my life” I am of course immediately intrigued. And I’m heartened to see that the game in question is Magic: the Gathering.
a/n: This story is being honored tonight at my college among the best of student work. Therefore it is going in the “Works” section of the blogsite.
I will be bringing you weekly Monday updates henceforth, to the best of my abilities. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy this story.
The first time I heard Feint was that Friday night in Clinton, in front of the Thai place in that new alley behind the pizzeria. Months out of my teens, sharing a cold black bench with a guy from high school, I was one of the lucky few present for the birth of that band you’ve been hearing on the radio lately.
I don’t go to Clinton much anymore; that Friday was one of the rare visits. My anchors are so few, my friends so scattered across the country that it’s hard to find reasons to come back home. If it were the same place, I might put up with the extra gas. This a new Clinton, though, cleaner and whiter like a new shoe and just as hard to walk in.
“We’ve long canonized our respective lunacies, believing it is like some artistic sacrament that makes our bizarre endeavor possible.”
Jerry “Tycho” Holkins, Penny Arcade writer, on Mike “Gabe” Krahulik, the comic’s artist, and anxiety.
I respect the folks at Penny Arcade. I’d love to go to PAX next time it comes East. Between Child’s Play, great video game journalism, and a new engaging reality show about artists, they’ve accomplished a lot, and I’ve always looked up to their polish, professionalism, and sense of humor in every subject; even subjects that aren’t actually funny.
I also- due to a recent stint with anx-meds (as I shorthand them), appreciate what it’s like to work through a disorder.
Today we’re going to talk about the brain, and the parts of it that keep us working, for better and worse.
The Bourne series has a special place in my head, not only for popularizing fine-tuned psychogenic amnesia– characters that forget the plot but remember how to kill you with a pen or a rolled up newspaper– but for kicking off an interest in the brain. Aside from the bonus of being something my Dad and I can always watch together, it was a foundation of interest in psychological writings.
But we need to go deeper.