Broken Arrow

There's a splinter here, you know. It's like that tree I once saw -- the knife that had been embedded in its trunk was almost being swallowed by the outgrowth. But you know it's still there. It's not going to go away.

I took the Myers-Brigg Test the other day. I'm an INTJ. Introverted. iNutuitive. Thinking. Judging. I value intelligence, clarity, knowledge and competence, and expect the same of others. It's no wonder that this follows the rest of the personality description:

"Personal relationships, particularly romantic ones, can be the INTJ's Achilles heel. While they are capable of caring deeply for others (usually a select few), and are willing to spend a great deal of time and effort on a relationship, the knowledge and self-confidence that make them so successful in other areas can suddenly abandon or mislead them in interpersonal situations.

This happens in part because many INTJs do not readily grasp the social rituals; for instance, they tend to have little patience and less understanding of such things as small talk and flirtation (which most types consider half the fun of a relationship)."

The modern-day game of courtship is a game for daredevils who dangle their hearts on a string around their necks. Why risk the possibility of having it stolen or battered, or falling loose to the ground with no one there to catch? Why risk the chance of it growing so heavy with misery -- you're not pretty enough, hot enough, skinny enough, enough enough -- that the weight of it strangles you? Because it's fun. Slaves to their internal chemical processes -- the adrenaline, the testosterone -- aim for the high, disregard the low.

There's a INTJ quote I've posted on my wall. "Low tolerance for rampant emotionalism." The roommate and I had quite a laugh over it, not just because of the cynical wording -- but because of how truly it applies to me.

Let's face it -- I'm not meant for it. I seek logic and clarity where there is none. The roommate told me that if she ever saw me preening on the arm of a guy, she would think I'd lost my mind. I am a control freak in the sense that I want to have complete control over myself -- though some friends have joked otherwise, I have no desire to learn what kind of drunk I am.

How do you know if it's love? Some romantic chump is going to say like a whimsical fairy godmother, "You just know." That's not how the INTJ works. She has a mental checklist of physical and intellectual attributes, she'll make an internal pro-con list, have a debate with the brain and the heart where the brain usually wins. Even then, nothing may come out of it -- around the object of interest, the INTJ will freeze up, stiffen, and act like a total zero-confidence idiot -- or actively avoid said object to avoid another deep freeze.

As far as I know, there's only been one time where my heart knocked out the brain -- and even then, there is nothing to tell, save the shred of the arrow that's still lodged within me.

A reminder.