Greek mythology tells the story of Narcissus, a hunter renowned for his beauty. As the legend goes, Narcissus was hunting in the woods one day when he caught his reflection in
a spoon while he was eating his cereal a nearby pond. He was so mesmerized by his own beauty that he fell in love with it and, unable to leave his own reflection, eventually died.
So, unless you’ve got the IQ of Derek Zoolander, this mythological tale is where we get the term narcissism. Blogging, to me, has always seemed to be somewhat narcissistic. Why would I logically assume that people would care about anything I had to say? However, after
an eternity a few seconds of self-examination and constant reminders from ex-friends, my psychiatrists, and my father, I’ve accepted that I am indeed a rather narcissistic individual. In my defense, why shouldn’t I be? I’m awesome… but that’s besides the point. My vanity isn’t isolated – it’s widespread throughout my generation. We were the kids who received a trophy even if we didn’t win, the ones who were told we were special and could do anything we wanted, and the little girls who were told we were beautiful even if we weren’t. We were raised to care about ourselves more than we probably deserved.
The self-centered idea that anyone might actually care what I have to say is only supported by my 600+ Twitter followers (I’m popular) and the numerous requests for me to start a blog. So, dear fans, here I am.
I’ll do my best to make this party entertaining, grammatically correct, and somewhat relevant.
Read me. Follow me. Worship me. Love me. Fantasize about me.