My writing is fragmented like my speech. My speech is fragmented like my mind. I outpace myself and by the time I realize it, I'm at a destination I'm not familiar with with no idea how I got there. IQ? See ya. It takes someone who knows me very well, or not very well at all, to know my true intelligence. I'm witty two minutes too late, brilliant once I've published all the mistakes.
Get me excited enough and I even stutter--the same half a sentence two or three or four times before I stop to try to move it along.

I live my life with an abandon that would kill most of you. I take examples from the type of people you'd find insane (and you might be right!).

I do everything with a flourish, no matter how stupid it looks, just to prove to myself I can do it with no problem. I hop walls to avoid being bored.
I'm an odd kind of gentleman. I hold open doors for girls I don't even know (10 seconds of my day in exchange for a cute smile? hell yes!). I pepper my speech with "miss" and "ma'am" because, well, it seems proper.

I'm not much for giving birthday gifts or Christmas gifts or any kind of holiday gifts, but suddenly out of the middle of nowhere you'll find on your doorstep a package from me just because I thought of you for some reason.

I'm perpetually late for everything. Every month I remember around the 25th I need to pay my rent. It gets paid by the 5th in a good month [it's due on the 1st]. Two minutes to make an appoinment? I can't pull it off. Need to leave for class in five minutes? Suddenly it's been fifteen. Not that I don't care about these things. They just get lost somewhere.
Yeah, you think you're a procrastinator? Try a day in my head, you'll come out hands shaking and mind at 200 miles an hour. It's a monster I spent years making peace with... and now I'm still trying to take a bit of control away from it. It sticks in a thought and won't quit until I've said it. Listen? I try. It just doesn't always work. I don't mean to talk over you, I don't mean to jump subjects. I just can't help it, yet.
I have no concept of where "the line" is. All gray to me. Everything bleeds into everything else and suddenly I'm making a ^ (use bro) joke in front of a bunch of black people. Oops, sorry, didn't mean to offend you. I swear I don't hate you... do I look like I have the time or the energy to waste on hate?

Aggression. I have it... to a point. I dance like a prizefighter, I'll put you on the ropes with a flurry like you've never seen. It's too bad I don't have a knockout punch. It'd be nice if that didn't make me look like an idiot.
Pride. No thanks. If you haven't seen me in a skirt or a girl's jacket or a stupid hat (turned sideways, even), you have no concept of how little I care about this "pride" thing. Go ahead, knock me down if it makes you feel better. I'm no worse for it because I didn't have a high horse to fall off in the first place... or any horse, for that matter.
Secrets... I have them. I just don't keep the same kind of things secret. And if you're sharp enough to ask the right question, the one that leads to that deep dark secret... I'll tell it. Maybe not accurately (my point of view isn't just warped, it's a mobius strip), but I'll tell. I have nothing to hide from you. Why would I? It's just the truth. You can't hurt me with it if everyone already knows... and it's not like I have pride to lose. My ego holds me up just fine, and I doubt you're touching that.
Art... I'm an artist of things only I understand. Because that's how they have meaning to me, I suppose.

And if your mind works like mine... you're either a bastard, or my best friend.
But it doesn't.

Oh yeah, and I almost forgot... I'm perpetually happy. Because what do I really have to worry about?