Enough about me bitching about school. For now anyway. There just seemed to be something off about that last class I took and I still can’t put my finger on it. That class to me was never “OMG!!! BEST KLASS EVA!” It might have been for some but definitely not me. Their drink of choice is Kool-aid if you get what I’m saying here.

I realized I’m not very INFP in my preferences.

For some reason I like artificial smells. Sometimes I even buy things to make even more smells. I like smells. If I had to pick my favorite cosmetic it would be deodorant. I remember when I was younger in junior high a lot of the girls were afraid that if they wore fruity scented perfume they would get stung by bees. These stories were usually about some distant person. My aunt’s best friend’s niece’s step sister’s wore kiwi scented perfume and was stung by a bee at a picnic because it smelled her kiwi perfume. I also remember one about some kind of raspberry scented hair product possibly hair gel and a bee trying to sting them in a Zipper carnival ride. Sometimes I like to wear perfume. But not so much you can smell me from down the street. I’m not like that old Bud Light commercial with “Too Much Cologne Wearer”

I don’t like EDM music. I don’t know why liking EDM music is an INFP thing anyway.

For some reason INFPs really like plain and drab clothing. They despise clothes with “advertising” on them. Even pictures. I like shirts with cartoon pictures on them.

I’m also materialistic, and have been for years.

Help Me?

I’ve been reading up on enneagrams recently. I’m a 4w5. I find this describes me better than the INFP label. People who are type 4 have identity issues and feel defective or alien in some way. When I first read that I was thinking “Story of my life!”. I always worry about being forgettable or having no personality what so ever. Which is something I constantly worry about. It’s been mentioned in many of my blog posts here. I can’t remember how many times I’ve been told “Why can’t you be more like (person X)? Even though people it’s a farce. There are very few times I’m actually comfortable being myself even around people I know. I could count all the times on my fingers. Maybe even on one hand. It’s that bad.